


The Frigid Melody: Encore

by RainyMeadows



Category: Layton Kyouju Series | Professor Layton Series, Layton Kyouju vs Gyakuten Saiban | Professor Layton vs. Phoenix Wright: Ace Attorney, 逆転裁判 | Gyakuten Saiban | Ace Attorney
Genre: Bisexual Disaster Phoenix Wright, Cameos from various other canon characters, Cooking, Cooking Lessons, Good Parent Hershel Layton, Good Parent Phoenix Wright, Gyakuten Saiban | Ace Attorney Spoilers, Layton Kyouju vs Gyakuten Saiban | Professor Layton vs. Phoenix Wright: Ace Attorney Spoilers, Layton Kyouju | Professor Layton Spoilers, London, M/M, Slow Burn, Trucy Wright is a little shit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-06
Updated: 2020-12-11
Packaged: 2021-03-09 05:29:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 70,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27419563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RainyMeadows/pseuds/RainyMeadows
Summary: Having finally departed Fatargan, Phoenix and Trucy Wright spend the remaining days of their England vacation in the company of Professor Hershel Layton. The Professor himself is more than eager to introduce his new companions to the wonders London has to offer, but he can't help noticing that this friendly ex-lawyer might be a little more than he had anticipated......and Phoenix Wright? He can't help thinking the same thing in return.Contains MASSIVE spoilers for Professor Layton vs Phoenix Wright: The Frigid Melody
Relationships: Hershel Layton/Naruhodou Ryuuichi | Phoenix Wright, Naruhodou Minuki | Trucy Wright & Naruhodou Ryuuichi | Phoenix Wright
Comments: 125
Kudos: 89





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Professor Layton vs Phoenix Wright: The Frigid Melody](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23754307) by [RainyMeadows](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RainyMeadows/pseuds/RainyMeadows). 



Luke leaned and stretched his back with a wide, dramatic yawn.

“Did you sleep well, Luke?” asked Hershel as he straightened his hat.

“Surprisingly, yes,” Luke replied, almost hitting Edgeworth in the face as he lowered his hands. “I’d thought the engines would keep me awake, but after a while, it became rather soothing.”

“I know, right?” Phoenix added, rolling his shoulder as they walked. “It was like ASMR. Like white noise.”

“Huh?” Trucy finished fastening Mr Hat’s cloak around her shoulders. “What’s ASMR?”

“Uh…”

Hershel stifled a snigger as Phoenix awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck.

“It’s hard to describe,” the taller man said. “I’ll tell you when I’ve figured out a way to explain it so you can understand.”

The third American in their little troupe rolled his neck.

“Not that I didn’t sleep well too,” he said, adjusting his ragged cravat, “but I honestly cannot wait to return to an actual bed.”

Phoenix heaved an exhausted sigh.

“Tell me about it,” he groaned. “Thank god we’re finally back in civilisation.”

Hershel couldn’t help but smile at the sound of their conversation. No matter the circumstances, it always warmed his heart to listen to praise of old London town.

When they reached the doors, Luke was the first to jump out of the train, and Hershel heard a sigh of amazement from his sweet young apprentice as the steam-filled air of King’s Cross washed across the platform.

“Oh, wow,” the teen breathed. “It’s so much warmer down here!”

“Indeed,” Hershel responded. “Quite odd when one considers that the difference in elevation and global positioning isn’t all that large.”

“Yet in spite of that,” Edgeworth said behind him, “I don’t think I’ve ever been happier to return to London.”

“Same here,” said Phoenix, tugging his and Trucy’s suitcases over the gap to the platform. “Not that I hate Scotland, but damn am I glad it’s all over.”

As if on cue, the train doors slid closed behind them.

Hershel didn’t bother to voice it, but he couldn’t help but agree. No matter how his investigations turned out, it was never anything less than _fantastic_ to return to his home at long last.

“Well,” he heard Edgeworth say, “I suppose I should get going-”

“No you don’t!”

“Trucy?!” Edgeworth almost toppled under the force of the ten-year-old grabbing his arm. “What are you-”

“Uncle Miles, you’re a _mess!_ ” cried Trucy. “No way you can go to Scotland Yard looking like that!”

“Not to sound rude,” Hershel spoke up as Edgeworth shook the child off his arm, “but I agree. Mr Edgeworth, I insist that you accompany myself, Luke and the Wrights to my home so that we can all get ourselves cleaned up.”

He smiled as he adjusted his hat.

“A good gentleman always looks presentable, after all.”

Edgeworth rolled his eyes with a sigh of resignation.

“I packed so many clothes I ended up not wearing…” Luke said sadly.

Hershel couldn’t help but laugh.

“A good gentleman should also make sure he’s well prepared, Luke,” he told the boy. “No need to punish yourself.”

“So you’ve got a car?” Phoenix asked, so hopefully that it almost made Hershel laugh again.

“It isn’t the largest automobile in the British Isles,” he told the group, “but it can seat five if we arrange ourselves carefully-”

“Shotgun,” Edgeworth piped up.

“Jerk!” spat Phoenix.

“We both know I’m not the fatherly type, Wright,” Edgeworth said, frowning as he crossed his arms. “You can sit in the back seat with the children.”

“Wh- I’m not a child!” Luke objected. “I’m _fifteen!_ ”

“I’m sorry to say,” said Hershel before the argument could go too far, “but I believe it’s an arrangement that makes sense.”

Edgeworth contributed the smuggest smile Hershel had ever seen.

“Yeah,” said Trucy, “I don’t think Uncle Miles would like being squished. Right?”

“Precisely,” Edgeworth replied.

Phoenix just groaned, no doubt at the realisation that the one to be squished was, in fact, going to be him. Hershel almost felt bad for smiling.

Almost.

“Well then,” he said, raising his finger in a leader-like fashion, “to the Laytonmobile!”

* * *

With how tiring the past few days had been, it only made sense to make this time together a bit more… leisurely than it had been before.

So how did Hershel choose to return himself and his travelling companions to his home? Via the scenic route, of course, showing the visitors to his homeland all the sights of the capital that they may not have been able to witness prior to boarding the 7:15 to Aberdeen.

Not only that, but it turned out that Luke may have missed his calling as a tour guide. As Phoenix and Trucy marvelled at Tower Bridge while they crossed it, the eager boy was delighted to inform them that the structure had been built in the late 1800s, not in the 16th or 17th century as Phoenix claimed to have assumed from its architectural style.

Incorrect, Luke had stated, although it was an understandable mistake to make given the bridge’s appearance.

He was just as happy to educate them on the clock that towered over the Thames, which Trucy cooed at in delight as they drove past. Big Ben was what the bell inside was called, Luke told her, not the tower itself, and he hinted at an investigation he had shared with the Professor which had resulted in their restoration of the grand old clock’s sound.

Leaning against the window in the front seat, Edgeworth glanced over his shoulder and scoffed at the pair's relentless admiration of the city, although Hershel couldn’t help but note a subtle little smile on his face as he did so.

And then, as they continued through London, the script was suddenly flipped. Luke had become the one who was marvelling at the city, except his fancy was taken by the towering glass monstrosities of architecture that dominated the skyline. Upon that eventuality, Hershel took up the role of impromptu tour guide, telling his apprentice about the “modern” buildings that had been constructed following what had been dubbed the Future London Incident.

Needless to say, the British public had already conjured whimsical little nicknames for many of these structures. One tower, in the shape of a strange, elongated dome, had been dubbed the Gherkin, and another oddly curved yet boxy building had been named the Walkie-Talkie.

And needless to say, Phoenix and Trucy – as well as Edgeworth, to Hershel’s surprise – were horrified to learn that the Walkie-Talkie had already undergone something of a makeover after its shape focused sunlight on places across the street from it. It had created such intense heat, Hershel was happy to report, that it had melted cars, ignited carpets and one gutsy individual had gone so far as to fry an egg right there on the pavement.

She had then found herself in trouble with the police for littering, but Hershel decided they didn’t need to know that. London’s mismatched building designs were fascinating enough without the knowledge that they may have caused an arrest.

The happy chatter was only just beginning to die down as they turned onto Hershel’s street, with Trucy remarking in wonder at the pretty little row of terrace houses, before they drew up outside the petunia-lined three-bedroom structure that Hershel called his home. It wasn’t much, he admitted as they disembarked the vehicle, but it wasn’t far from his workplace and it was comfortable, so it suited his needs well enough.

There sadly wasn’t suitable time for a full tour of the building, but Hershel found unrivalled satisfaction simply by hanging his coat on the hook beside the front door.

It was so, so good to be _home._

The very moment he showed his guests where the bathroom was, Edgeworth swept inside and slammed the door in their faces, soon followed by the unmistakable sound of the bath being filled.

Typical Edgeworth, Phoenix remarked. Putting his own cleanliness over the possibility that others might need to use the bathroom.

Hershel unfortunately had to agree as he looked down at his forearm, regretting that he kept quite an amount of his first aid equipment in a room now occupied by an angry prosecutor. Thank goodness he had been sensible enough to keep a first aid kit in his kitchen.

Not that he got a chance to use it. Phoenix had interjected to wipe down his arm with alcohol and bandage his wounds before he even had a chance to open the box.

Hershel couldn’t complain.

It was nice to have someone taking care of him, rather than the usual situation he found himself in.

Once they were sure he wasn’t going to catch an infection, he and Phoenix returned upstairs, and Hershel knocked on the bathroom door as politely as he could.

“Are you quite well, Mr Edgeworth?” he called.

From the other side, he heard the soft sound of splashing water.

“Agh, this is _wonderful,_ ” Edgeworth replied. “I’m finding it difficult not to fall asleep!”

Phoenix snorted into his hand, almost dropping the suitcase he was carrying.

“Well, do try to stay conscious, won’t you?” Hershel told his guest. “The Yard shan’t look kindly upon either of us if you oversleep or drown in my bathtub.”

“Edgeworth, I got your suitcase!” Phoenix added. “I’ll leave it outside the bathroom door for you, got it? You can just pull your spare clothes out whenever.”

“Thank you, Wright,” Edgeworth replied. “Much appreciated!”

“No prob!” called Phoenix, and he rested the suitcase on the floor beside the door.

As he and Hershel turned to walk away, a thought occurred to the Professor which he realised he felt far more comfortable speaking about now that they were no longer stranded in the Cairngorms.

“I get the sense,” he said to Phoenix as they mounted the stairs, “that you and Mr Edgeworth have known each other for far more time than you’ve shared in the courtroom.”

“Yeah, we first became friends as kids,” Phoenix explained with a shrug. “Lost touch after his dad died and he moved away, got pretty strained when we met again on opposite sides of a courtroom, but it’s safe to say we’re friends by now.”

He scoffed again as they reached the bottom of the stairs.

“He’d probably tell you the same thing,” he said, “only you’d have to drag it out of him kicking and screaming.”

He pulled his hat off and ran his hand through his hair.

“I only ask,” said Hershel, reminding himself that a gentleman didn’t stare, “because the two of you appear to speak to one-another rather coldly. Mr Edgeworth in particular behaves as though he doesn’t like you very much.”

Phoenix frowned at his fingers, rubbing them together, apparently dissatisfied by how his hair felt.

“Nah, I’m fairly sure he does,” he replied. “He’s just…”

He stuffed the beanie into his pocket.

“He’s smug, alright?” he said. “He said it himself back in Fatargan; he’s a prideful fool.” He gave Hershel a small smirk. “And I’m a sad clown. He needs someone to knock him off his high horse just like I need someone to remind me life is worth living.”

Hershel couldn’t hold back a frown.

His mind flew back to that dreadful night when they’d laid Edgeworth out on the sofa in front of the fireplace. When he’d found Phoenix standing outside, staring into the snow, calmly contemplating the possibility of ending his life.

He’d tried so, _so_ hard to reassure this man that his life had value, yet it seemed as though it hadn’t been enough.

“What’s wrong?”

Oh dear, and now Phoenix had noticed his disappointment.

Perhaps it would be best to be honest…

“It’s saddening to hear you speak about yourself like that,” he explained. “I would have thought that our time in Scotland would have been enough to make you realise-”

Phoenix cut him off with a sigh.

“It’s hard, alright?” he said, running his hand through his hair again and trying to push it out of his face. “I can’t just get told it’ll be okay once and go on believing it forever. I’ll probably have to keep telling myself for the rest of my life.”

Hershel’s mind went back again.

Back to the night he had watched the love of his life walk away and round the corner, her body glimmering with a soft golden light, knowing that he was never going to see her again, and how little all of the well-wishes and condolences from his friends had done to lift the paralysing weight of grief from his body…

He swallowed.

“I understand,” he said.

“You do?” Phoenix stared at him in astonishment.

Hershel removed his hat and cradled it in his hands.

“I can’t say it’s something I’m comfortable discussing,” he replied, “especially standing in a hallway, but trust me.”

He hugged it gently to his chest.

“I understand how you feel, Phoenix.”

Phoenix’s line of sight fell downwards. He seemed to be deep in thought all of a sudden.

For the first time, Hershel noticed that his eyes were two different colours. Each iris was split in half down the middle. Brown on the top, blue on the bottom. It was rather a bizarre sight, but nonetheless fascinating.

“Is it bad that I take that as a relief?”

Phoenix’s question shook Hershel back to his senses. A gentleman doesn’t stare, he had to remind himself.

“Not at all!” he replied, perhaps a little more quickly than he had hoped. “Not at all, my friend. I wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t believe it would help you feel better.”

“Good,” said Phoenix, “because it worked. Thank you.”

He gave Hershel a bashful little smile, and the Professor tried not to stare again as those multicolour eyes lit up.

How had he never paid close enough attention to Phoenix’s smile before? Was it just because he hadn’t seen a genuine smile from the man in so long? But _what_ a sight to behold…

…what on earth was he thinking? Where did _that_ come from?!

“You’re very welcome,” Hershel said, quickly turning away and putting his hat back on as his face started to grow warm. “Come along. Let me show you my office.”

He led Phoenix through his hallway to the room that sat beside his kitchen. It was true that he didn’t use his home office very much anymore, since Dr Schrader’s retirement had provided him with a comfortable workplace at the university, but it still suited his purposes whenever he had assignments to grade or artifacts that needed a place to stay between museums.

As a result, a brief flash of panic sparked in his body when he heard voices from the other side of the door, but his heart calmed when he recognised those voices as the two youngest of their travelling companions.

He opened the door for Phoenix, just as a gentleman should, right on time to see Luke gently holding a piece of sparkling multicolour stone for Trucy to admire.

“-an opalized fossil!” he heard the boy say. “See? It’s a scorpion tail, but it’s turned into opal!”

“Whoa, that’s so cool!” Trucy bounced on her heels. “I didn’t even know fossils could turn into gemstones! How does that work?”

And then she noticed the two adults standing in the doorway.

“Uncle Hershel!” she cried. “Uncle Hershel, how does it work?!”

Hershel laughed quietly to himself as he closed the door behind them.

“I see my apprentice is showing you what my office has to offer,” he commented. “My expedition logs are in my desk drawers, in case you were wondering.”

“Whoa,” Phoenix said as they walked further into the room. “This is… messy.”

It was hard not to laugh again at such a flippant remark.

“Yes, I’m afraid my housekeeper is still on holiday in Spain with her family,” Hershel told him, and he led Phoenix over to the sofa that Luke and Trucy were sitting beside (on the floor, for some indiscernible reason). “I am trying to keep tidy, especially since I don’t have Luke around to clean up for me anymore, but I’m afraid it’s quite easy for the mess to get on top of me.”

Phoenix snorted into his hand again.

“Don’t worry,” he said as he sat down. “I’m the same.”

“He is!” Trucy piped up. “But Uncle Hershel, how is this possible? How can a fossil turn into opal? Tell me!”

“Well-”

“TELL ME!”

“Trucy, not so loud!” Luke warned. “We don’t want the neighbours to complain!”

Hershel took the opportunity to sit down beside Phoenix.

“It’s a very rare phenomenon, young Trucy,” he happily explained. “You see, a fossil is formed when organic matter decays and leaves a void behind. Luke, could you bring me that fern on the top shelf over there?”

“I’m on it, Professor!” Luke obediently leapt to his feet. “Good thing I’m finally tall enough to reach!”

Phoenix sniggered to himself.

“Yeah, no kidding,” he said. “Last time I saw you, you were about, uh…”

He held out his hand at about the same height as his waist.

“… _that_ high?” he asked. “You were tiny!”

“Tinier than me?” Trucy giggled.

“What can I say?” Luke shrugged once he had retrieved the required rock. “I’ve always been small for my age. Here you go.”

“Thank you,” Hershel replied, taking the chunk of stone, and turning it so that Trucy could see the hollows in its side. “Do you see this, Trucy?”

Trucy gasped in delight.

“Look at all those leaves!” she said happily.

“I suspect this fern to have been buried over time,” Hershel told her as Luke joined her in admiring it, and Phoenix leaned in dangerously close so that he could get a look. “The soil that covered it eventually turned into stone, but the leaves trapped within it rotted away, leaving this gap inside. You can feel free to touch it, so long as you’re gentle.”

He had barely even finished that sentence before Trucy was tugging her glove off.

“That’s so cool!” she whispered, awestruck as she traced her fingertips over the tiny indentations.

“Can I feel it?” asked Phoenix.

Hershel turned the fossil in his direction, and Phoenix traced his fingers down the length of the stem.

“It’s so smooth,” he muttered in wonder.

“However,” said Hershel, passing the fossil to Luke so that he could put it back, “another thing you’ll occasionally find is that particles of silicate get washed into those gaps by water. They’ll clump together, usually over millions and millions of years, and they form into opal, just as Luke was showing you.”

“Fern fossils like these are actually rather common,” Luke added as he returned to the table. “Right, Professor?”

“Indeed they are, my boy,” Hershel said as his apprentice picked up the opal fossil again. “Ammonite and trilobite fossils follow close behind in how frequently they get stumbled upon.”

He adjusted his hat so that it didn’t slip down over his eyes.

“Opal fossils, by contrast, are exceedingly uncommon,” he explained, crossing his legs and settling back into his sofa. “Their rarity is matched only by their beauty.”

Luke froze as though fossilised on the spot.

“Wow,” he said softly. “I’d better be careful with this.”

“Yes, I’d be rather grateful if you could put it back,” Hershel commented.

His apprentice looked as though he was moving in slow motion as he reached for the plush velvet bag that the fossil belonged in.

“Not like there aren’t plenty of other awesome things to look at,” Phoenix said, looking around the room as Luke returned the little bag to where it belonged. “Man, my office sucks by comparison.”

“That settles it!” Trucy thrust a declarative finger into the air. “As soon as we get back to LA, I’m stuffing our office with every last prop I can find! We’ll get more wands and a spare hat and I’ll get one of those cabinets to put people in for cutting them up! Ooh! Ooh! And magic spaghetti!”

“Hey, slow down!” Phoenix defensively raised his hands. “I’ll get as much as we can afford, okay?”

“Then I’ll work extra hard!” Trucy added. “I’ll perform at five other bars! Don’t worry, Daddy! I’ll get us as much money as I can!”

“But…” Phoenix rolled his eyes and sighed, defeated in the face of his darling daughter’s determination.

Hershel took the opportunity to admire his office. The idols on the shelf above his desk, a trophy he’d received six Octobers ago for Academic of the Year (which he hadn’t even known as a real award until then), his travel teapot still perched atop a camping stove he’d meant to put away last month, his shelves of beautiful rock specimens…

“I will admit,” he had to say, “that this office pales in comparison to the one I use at the university.”

“I agree,” Luke said as he sat back down at the table. “That one’s much better organised!”

The comment left Hershel so surprised that he couldn’t help but laugh, and he heard Phoenix snickering right beside him.

How wonderful it was to finally be at home, and finally feel able to relax…

He almost felt as though he never wanted this moment to end.

“Whoa!” he heard Trucy shout. “Is that a geode?!”

Hershel followed her line of sight to his desk, where there sat a cracked open chunk of rock with an interior lined with studs of bright orange topaz.

“Yes, it is,” he said. “I have several geodes I expect you’d enjoy. As a matter of fact, I use a geode to store some of my geodes.”

“Are you serious?” demanded Phoenix. “What kind of money-burner are you?”

“Hang on, I’ll get that one too!” Luke jumped back up to his feet.

“None of them are purchases, Phoenix,” Hershel assured his friend. “They’re simply a by-product of my expeditions. When you set out searching for stones, you’re bound to find many that aren’t what you’re looking for, but are fascinating nonetheless.”

“Here, I got it!”

Luke fell to his knees in front of the table and gently positioned the bowling ball-sized stone within Hershel’s reach.

“Huh.” Phoenix leaned in close to it, squinting at its smooth beige surface. “Just looks like an ordinary rock.”

“But this rock,” Hershel said, uncrossing his legs so that he could lean close too, “has a pretty little secret.”

He picked up the top of the geode and rested it, inside-up, on the table.

“Whoa!” Phoenix and Trucy both gasped at the same time.

“The geode itself is one of amethyst,” Hershel explained, and he lifted the pot-like rock into his lap. “The purple crystals are extremely distinctive. These slices, however…” He took one out and held it up for the trio to see. “…are of agate. Have a look at this.”

He passed the green and grey stone into Phoenix’s fingers.

“I’ve been told that it’s called moss agate,” he said.

Phoenix held the stone up to the light. It had been sliced so thinly that the light shone through it, casting a green glow across his eyes and making the colour even more indecipherable.

“Cool!” Trucy gasped. “It looks like it has stems in it!”

The smiling Hershel reached into the geode again.

“This one is fire agate,” he said, holding up a polished disc of vibrant shades of red and orange. “I’m sure you can understand why it’s called that.”

Trucy grinned in delight as she accepted the stone, and she ran her fingers over its craggy edge.

“This one,” Hershel went on, taking out a third cut of colourful rock, “is known as holly blue agate.”

It was a stone as vibrant as the sea on a tropical shore, and Luke’s eyes practically popped out of his head as he accepted it.

“Blimey!” he muttered, whipping off his cap to compare the colour. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a rock this bright before!”

“And _this_ one,” Hershel said as he took out one of his favourite slices, “has a particularly fun name. Can you guess what it is?”

He turned it around in his fingers so that they could see all the colours, all the streaks, all the blotches and ripples in the rock that looked like an artist had taken all the liberties they could with a full palette of watercolours.

“Um…” Luke fidgeted with the holly blue he was still holding. “I forgot.”

“Spotty?” Trucy suggested. “Ripple?”

“Funky?” offered Phoenix.

All good suggestions, Hershel considered, but he had a feeling the truth would be equally as entertaining.

“Crazy lace,” he stated.

Trucy giggled.

“Wow,” muttered Phoenix, “that _is_ fun.”

He rested the cut of moss agate on the table beside its container.

“Hershel, I’m surprised you’re even into this stuff,” he commented. “Aren’t archaeologists more about the people and living side of things? You know, Roman towns and Stone Age axes and jewellery and stuff.”

He took another slice out of the geode and held it up to the light.

“It’s true that gemstones such as these aren’t the focus of my study,” Hershel said, “but collecting them remains a fascinating hobby nonetheless.”

“And here I thought you were all about puzzles!” Luke joked, and he slotted the holly blue and moss slices back into the geode beside a jet-black cut of onyx agate.

“Well, of course I am,” said Hershel as Trucy put her fire agate back, “but a man can have multiple hobbies, can he not?”

“Yeah!” Phoenix agreed. “Besides, as rocks go, these are some pretty cool rocks. What’s this one called?”

“That one is iris agate,” Hershel told him as the iridescent stone shimmered in the faint sunlight. “I’m sure you can see why it would be called that.”

Phoenix lowered the stone, letting Hershel get a better look at the side he’d been admiring. The light reflected off it almost like the opal Luke had been showing to Trucy.

“…it’s pretty…” Phoenix said softly.

“Can I borrow one for a magic trick?” asked Trucy.

“That’s a nice thought,” Hershel said as he took the iris agate back, “but I’m afraid I’m rather attached to my collection.”

He slotted the stone back into the geode, which Luke obediently closed without Hershel even needing to ask him to.

“If I ever come across an agate of a type I already possess,” he said as Luke picked up the geode, “I’ll be sure to send you a slice.”

“That works!” Trucy said cheerfully as Luke put the geode back in its place beside a large labradorite cabochon. “Thank you, Uncle Hershel!”

“Oooh, Professor!” Luke said as he turned back from the shelf. “Are you going to tell Mr Wright and Trucy about the jewellery you’ve found on your digs?”

“I’d be happy to if they were interested,” Hershel replied.

But before he could make a start on that, another thought crept into his head, and he looked up at the ceiling.

“Right now, however,” he said, “I must say I’m a little concerned about Mr Edgeworth. He’s been upstairs for rather a while now.”

Phoenix looked up as well.

“Yeah, he’d better get out of there soon,” he said, running a hand through his hair again. “I _really_ need to shower!”

Hershel stood up and straightened out his jacket.

“Luke,” he said as Phoenix got up too, “why don’t you keep showing Trucy some of the artifacts I’ve collected during my career? Phoenix and I are going to go upstairs and make sure nothing’s happened to Mr Edgeworth.”

“Sure thing, Professor!” Luke replied happily.

He ran over to the chest of drawers that was set under Hershel’s shelves of pretty rocks and tugged open the lowest drawer as Hershel opened the door for Phoenix.

“Trucy,” the teen said, “come over here and look at this.”

Trucy gasped in amazement.

“Is that real gold?!” was the last thing Hershel heard her squeak before he closed the door.

Phoenix cast one more smile over his shoulder before trying to smooth back his hair yet again.

“Do you really need me to come with you?” he asked. “Edgeworth won’t bite. I mean, he’ll bark a lot, but…”

“I know,” said Hershel as they approached the stairs, “but seeing as the two of you are more acquainted than I am with him, I believe him to be more likely to listen to you.”

Phoenix shrugged.

“That’s fair,” he decided.

They jogged up the stairs to the bathroom, Hershel holding onto his hat so that it didn’t bounce off his head, and Phoenix knocked on the door as soon as they reached it.

“Edgeworth!” he called. “You okay in there?”

“Is there any reason I shouldn’t be?” was Edgeworth’s echoed reply.

Hershel breathed a sigh of relief.

“He’s fine,” Phoenix reported, and then he turned back to the door. “You’ve been in there long enough and I need to shower! Think you could come out and let me use the bathroom?”

“Ten more minutes, Wright!”

Phoenix rolled his eyes and cast a glare of annoyance in Hershel’s direction.

Hershel cradled his chin. How could they go about convincing Edgeworth to vacate the bathroom? It wouldn’t be in the least bit polite to just ask him to come out, like Phoenix just had (not politely in the slightest, Hershel had to admit) but it would be a bad idea to wait for him. Scotland Yard couldn’t be kept waiting forever, after all.

But with everything he had been through over the past few weeks, Edgeworth had earned himself a long, hot bath, and Hershel was all too happy to allow him that liberty-

-but before he got a chance to decide what to do, Phoenix opened the door and stepped into the bathroom.

“H- what the hell do you think you’re doing, Wright?!” Edgeworth could be heard shouting. “Get out! Get- What’re you- Don’t you dare- Get your hand out of that water! What-?!”

There was a loud _plop._

After that came the distinct sound of trickling water, to which Hershel could only stand and listen in numb silence.

“Oh, you petty _bastard,_ ” Edgeworth growled.

As the trickling became the gurgle of an emptying bath, Phoenix stepped out of the room and presented Hershel with the plug.

Hershel slowly reached up and took it from him.

That done, Phoenix spun on his heel and made for the spare bedroom he had claimed upon arrival.

Hershel could only stand in place, watching his retreating form.

If he didn’t know any better, he would have said he was impressed.

* * *

“You don’t take sugar, do you?” Hershel asked as he picked up the teapot.

“No thank you,” Edgeworth replied, rubbing the back of his neck with his towel as he made himself comfortable at the table. “Ye gods, I’ve never felt so _clean._ ”

“The southern air becomes you, Mr Edgeworth,” Hershel said happily as he poured the tea. “You look a good deal better than you did when we found you on that mountain.”

“I should think so!” Edgeworth snapped indignantly. “And I hope I never end up in such a sorry state again! I simply do _not_ have the patience for it.”

Hershel rested the teapot down as his guest reached for the milk pitcher.

“Or the constitution,” he commented as he set a plate of biscuits in the middle of the table, “judging by how you collapsed up there.”

“Do be fair, Professor,” Edgeworth said once he had milked his tea. “I’m from a city on the southern coast of Japanifornia. Of course I wouldn’t be accustomed to the blistering cold of northern Scottish winter.”

He picked up his teacup and stirred the swirls away.

“I can’t even recall the last time I was far north enough to see the Aurora Borealis!” he pointed out.

Hershel’s smile faded as he sat down at the table.

“My apologies, Mr Edgeworth,” he said as he poured himself a cup. “No offence was intended.”

Edgeworth picked up his teacup.

“Apology accepted,” he said flatly.

He took a long, indulgent sip from his tea, and lowered the cup with a sigh of contentment.

“Ah, very nice,” he breathed. “Nothing compares to a truly satisfying cup of tea.”

“No, it certainly doesn’t,” Hershel agreed, stirring his own cupful. “Even in the worst of circumstances, a good cuppa can easily clear the mind and soothe the soul. There really isn’t anything quite like it.”

Edgeworth scoffed into his tea.

“I know a blind man who’d disagree with you on that,” he said.

Hershel hesitated, his cup halfway to his mouth.

“A blind man, you say?” he asked.

“It’s a long story,” Edgeworth told him. “Wright could tell you more about it than I ever could.”

Ah, excellent. Another excuse to spend more time talking to Phoenix, Hershel thought to himself as he downed a mouthful of his tea.

Edgeworth was correct in that regard. The taste, the heat, the smell… so _soothing._

And this was only English Breakfast…

He found himself eyeing Edgeworth as he lowered his cup. His neatly combed hair was still damp from his bath, his blouse was buttoned right up to his chin, and he had adjusted the towel around his neck as if to replicate his beloved cravat. Hershel couldn’t remember the last time he had seen anybody so determined to upkeep their personal aesthetic.

Aside from himself, of course.

Hershel pondered this as he ran a finger over his teacup’s handle.

“Might I ask, Mr Edgeworth,” he said, “how the pair of you came to be so close as to throw constant jabs in one-another’s direction?”

Edgeworth tapped his fingertip on the side of his cup, frowning into the light brown liquid.

“If you wish me to be honest,” he said, “were I of a more sound mind, I would never have associated myself with simple-minded, over-emotional fools that I somehow nonetheless find myself surrounded by on a near-daily basis. They seem to gravitate towards me like moths to a flame and…”

He glanced at the ceiling as if expecting to see Phoenix through it.

“…try as I may,” he went on, “Wright is the most stubborn of all the moths to have ever come along to bother me.”

He took another long, loving sip from his tea.

“However,” he said, “he’s an honest and loyal soul, which I cannot help but respect. There’s nothing that disgusts me quite like a person who only sees others as tools to be used and discarded, and Wright and I just happen to be two peas in a pod when it comes to that belief.”

His frown of disgust was more than enough to convey his honesty.

Hershel couldn’t help but agree. The sensation of dehumanisation that came from discovering that he had been nothing more than a pawn in someone else’s twisted and bizarre chess game… it was unpleasant, to say the least, and something he wouldn’t wish on his worst enemy.

“He tells me that you first met as children,” he recalled. “Is that correct?”

Edgeworth sighed and slumped in his chair.

“I hope he didn’t tell you we were the best of friends all through school,” he said bitterly. “I only knew him for around a year before…”

His sideways glance was probably more obvious than he had hoped.

“…certain circumstances forced us apart,” he settled upon. “And in all the time before then and our next meeting, almost fifteen years later, I barely even spared a thought for the man. Yet somehow, we always seem to find ourselves standing up for one-another. Dragging each other out of whatever dreadful situation we’ve managed to find ourselves in.”

He sipped on his tea again.

“Has he told you about the night he fell off a bridge into a raging river?”

“I beg your pardon?” Hershel spluttered. “No, he absolutely did _not!_ ”

“And guess who got called to act as a defence attorney in his stead?” Edgeworth said bitterly. “In spite of the fact that I’m a _prosecutor_ and had to fly across the entire country to find out what in the world was going on. Again, I’ll leave him to fill you in on all the gory details.”

He threw his head back and finished off his tea.

“Phoenix Wright,” he said, “is simultaneously the luckiest and unluckiest man I have ever met, Mr Layton. Do you not agree that to be fascinating?”

Hershel finished his own tea with one last mouthful, and ran his finger over the cup’s handle again as he thought.

Phoenix’s life was interesting, from an outside perspective at least. He had lost his job, but gained a wonderful daughter. He didn’t have the courage to play the violin in front of others, but when he did play, the music he produced was _heavenly._ His own mind had turned against him, yet he still found the courage to be kind and upbeat and considerate in a notably fatherly manner.

He was perhaps one of the most admirable people to have ever fallen into Hershel’s life.

How could that _not_ be fascinating?

“I do,” he said when he realised he’d sat in silence for perhaps too long. “It seems the two of you have quite an extraordinary bond.”

“Oh, don’t start,” Edgeworth groaned.

“Hm?” Hershel hesitated with his hand halfway to the teapot. “Don’t start what?”

“ _That,_ ” Edgeworth spat. “Speculating on our relationship like all the tabloids back at home do. We’re friends, Mr Layton, and will never be anything more.”

He snatched up a jammy dodger from the platter as if to punctuate his point.

“It’s true that the only straight thing about me is my hair,” he said, “but I do not and will not EVER have any romantic feelings for Wright. Not that it’s anything personal, but I simply have no interest in men who are shorter than me.”

He took an angry bite from his biscuit.

“M-my apologies, Mr Edgeworth,” Hershel responded. “I only meant to say that I admire how close the two of you are as friends. I didn’t mean to imply-”

“Think nothing of it, Mr Layton,” said Edgeworth. “I’m simply sick of people assuming Wright and I are in a relationship, so I thought I ought to make it as clear as possible that we’re _not._ ”

Hershel sighed in relief.

“…thank goodness.”

“I beg your pardon?” asked Edgeworth.

Hershel swallowed. Where on earth had _that_ come from?

“O-oh, it’s nothing,” he lied. “Would you like another cup of tea?”

“Absolutely,” Edgeworth replied.

“Think you could pour me a cup?”

Hershel didn’t even bother looking up from his teapot.

“Ah, Phoenix!” he said happily. “Of course, you’re just in time.”

“Wright, you are in no position to criticise me for spending so much time in the bath,” Edgeworth pointed out. “What took you so long?”

“Hey, it’s been like, a week!” Phoenix argued back as Hershel poured two fresh cups of tea. “I wanted to make sure I was clean! And uh, Hershel, I kind of used your razor. Is that okay? We’re headed to Scotland Yard, so I wanted to at least _try_ not to look like I slept in a dumpster.”

“Oh yes, that’s perfectly fine,” Hershel replied, setting down a third cup. “It was a gift from a student who wished to look upon them favourably,” he went on as he filled it, “but I’ve never put it to use. I’m afraid I simply don’t seem to have any-”

He made the mistake of glancing up at Phoenix as he spoke.

“…need.”

His wet hair had been roughly brushed back in a thick black swathe, stray locks falling haphazardly about his face and framing his cheekbones and bi-coloured eyes, his clean-shaven cheeks seemed to have cut a decade off his age and put the arrow-straight edge of his jaw on full display…

Hershel didn’t even realise he was still pouring the tea until he felt Edgeworth lifting the pot to keep the cup from overflowing.

And he did so with a coy little smirk that brought a flush of blistering heat to Hershel’s cheeks.

“You look much better, Wright,” he said once he was done with that.

“I could say the same for you,” Phoenix replied, sitting down at the table as Hershel set the teapot down. “Man, you look different without your neckerchief!”

“I’ve told you before,” Edgeworth tutted, “it’s a cravat!”

“I believe they all fall under the banner of ‘ascot’, Mr Edgeworth,” Hershel pointed out as he milked his tea.

Edgeworth sighed and slapped his forehead.

“Let’s not start _this_ now, can we?” he asked.

“Okay, okay, I was kidding!” Phoenix said desperately. “I hope you guys weren’t like this for the entire time I was showering!”

“Not at all, Phoenix,” Hershel said as he passed the milk pitcher. “Mr Edgeworth and I were getting along rather well.”

He mixed the milk into his tea and took a happy sip.

“Although,” he added, “I worry that we may run into some trouble in that regard once we arrive at the Yard.”

“Oh?” Edgeworth eyed him in curiosity. “And why would that be?”

“I may have to stay out of view,” Hershel explained. “There are certain persons at the Yard who believe me to be, ah, stealing their thunder, as it were. I’m never supposed to be more than a consultant on their cases, yet my name repeatedly makes the front page of the London Times. As you can imagine, while my public popularity may climb, my police popularity only continues to plummet.”

“Oof.” Phoenix cringed as he reached for the biscuits.

“Yes, I can understand why they’d harbour a certain dislike of you,” said Edgeworth. “I’d suggest waiting outside, but in the dead of winter…”

“No need to worry, Mr Edgeworth,” Hershel replied. “I’m sure I can avoid trouble so long as we’re in and out relatively quickly.”

“Once we do get there,” Edgeworth spoke up, “you needn’t fret about me anymore. My associates in the police force provided me with lodgings before I left for Fatargan and I’m positive they’d be willing to do it again.”

“Phew, that’s a relief,” Phoenix sighed. “I was worried we’d end up sharing a bed!”

Edgeworth’s response was a dramatic shudder of horror and disgust.

“You’re more than welcome to stay with me, Phoenix,” Hershel told his friend. “Trucy as well. We’ll have to return Luke to his parents before they get too worried, so there’ll be plenty of room for both of you.”

“Wow, really?” asked Phoenix. “I thought we were just using your spare rooms to store our luggage!”

“Impressive, Wright,” Edgeworth said with a smile. “Lodging with the great Professor Layton. Do try to stay out of trouble this time, won’t you? The last thing I need is to be called in the middle of the night to help you again.”

“Edgeworth,” said Phoenix, “considering what happened in that village, I think it’s safe to say we’re even.”

Hershel was sipping on his tea as he felt the attention in the room turn in his direction.

“Mr Layton?” said Edgeworth. “You’re the puzzle master. What do you think?”

Hershel lowered his cup, rubbing the handle again as he mulled the circumstances over.

“I would hardly call myself an expert on the lives you two have led,” he admitted, “but given what I’ve heard so far…”

Favours and life debts and friendship… it was difficult to add up, but the conclusion wasn’t terribly difficult to reach.

“I believe the favours owed by Mr Edgeworth to Phoenix far outweigh the opposite,” he concluded.

“Ha!” Phoenix shouted in joy. “Nice one, Hershel!”

“…fantastic,” Edgeworth grumbled, and took another sip of his tea.

* * *

Phoenix ignored the cold breeze that washed over his freshly shaved cheeks and nudged Edgeworth in the elbow.

“You nervous?” he asked.

“Nervous, Wright?” Edgeworth responded. “Why would I be nervous?”

“Seriously?” Phoenix had to force himself not to stare, as he knew he’d just walk into a lamppost. “These people assumed you were dead! You’ve been gone for a month!”

“Mr Wright,” Luke spoke up as they approached the stately building, “if anyone should be nervous, it’s you. I’m not sure if that hat’s going to win you any favours.”

The mere implication was enough to make Phoenix’s blood boil.

“Truce made this hat for me,” he snapped. “I’m not taking it off.”

“Daddy, it’s okay!” Trucy piped up. “You want to look smart, right? I’m not wearing a hat, so you can do it too!”

Even in spite of her reassurance, Phoenix still felt as though it would be a crime to take it off. He adjusted its brim, just as he’d seen Hershel do time and again, but couldn’t bring himself to pull it away from his forehead.

But at the same time…

“…if you’re sure…” he said hesitantly.

“As for me,” Hershel said beside him, “I’d very much prefer to keep mine on, if that’s all the same to you.”

“Same here,” said Luke, and although he couldn’t see him, Phoenix was sure he was adjusting his cap in a very Laytonesque manner.

“So it’s just _my_ hat that’s the problem?!” Phoenix demanded indignantly.

Trucy hummed in thought as they all came to a stop outside the Yard’s front door.

“I mean,” she said, “I did make sure it would be super bright and eye-catching.”

“It’d be better for all of us if you took it off, Wright,” said Edgeworth. “Come on. Do yourself a favour.”

Well, there was obviously no point in arguing against it.

“Fine,” Phoenix spat, and he snatched the hat off his head. “There you go. Better?”

He stuffed it into his pocket and tried to brush his hair back with his other hand.

“Much better,” he heard Hershel say, although Phoenix felt the familiar and ungentlemanly sensation of being stared at. “Now then, we won’t do ourselves any favours if we just stand around loitering all afternoon.”

He stepped up to the front door and held it open, and Phoenix took Trucy’s hand as he led the way up the steps and into the world-famous Scotland Yard.

He didn’t know what he had expected, but the room they had entered was bathed in golden light from bulbs hanging overhead. The walls now surrounding them were a deep red brick that managed to feel cozy rather than cold and a cushioned green bench sat invitingly to one side under a large pinboard, although its implied comfort was negated by the fact that it sat across the room from the magazine rack.

Beyond the raised barred door that led out of the waiting lobby and into the rest of the building, Phoenix could see a number of officers milling around, chatting, sipping coffee, exchanging documents, some in the traditional bell-shaped helmets and others in the more modern pie-shaped caps. His curiosity told him he should walk straight past them, through the two doorways he could see and up the stairs, or perhaps down the hallway in either direction, but the knowledge that he would immediately be arrested for trespassing stopped him in his tracks.

Not only that, but with how warm he felt all of a sudden, he got the sense that such exploration would leave him too exhausted to even make it back to the car.

“Whoa,” he heard Trucy sigh. “It’s a lot cosier in here than I’d imagined!”

“Warmer, too,” Phoenix agreed, and he unzipped his hoodie to his chest as Hershel walked past them to the nearby reception desk. “Jeez, it’s like an oven in here!”

“Compared to outside, at least,” added Luke, and he clutched his coat and shivered. “I’m still cold from the wind outside!”

Edgeworth seemed to agree as he blew out a breath of relief, and he pulled his blazer off to drape over his arm. Phoenix suppressed the remark he wanted to make about how it made him look like a waiter at a 1700s themed restaurant.

“Excuse me, miss,” Hershel said the barred-off receptionist. “Can you please notify Inspector Chelmey that Mr Miles Edgeworth has arrived at the Yard?”

“Certainly, sir,” the receptionist replied. “I’ll have him down immediately.”

“Oh, don’t worry about bringing him down here,” Edgeworth said casually. “Just notifying him of my arrival is enough.”

“Very well, sir,” the receptionist said simply before she ducked out of view.

Edgeworth, meanwhile, just tugged on the spare cravat he’d insisted on wearing. No doubt his bizarrely specific fashion choices were harshly conflicting with the Yard’s heating system.

“Annoying as this is,” he said, “it’s easiest to come here in person. Far easier than trying to convince someone over the phone that I truly am who I say I am-”

“ _MR EDGEWORTH!_ ”

“Huh?!”

Before Edgeworth had any chance to react, an immense blur of dirty green bowled through the waiting lobby. Luke jumped back and Trucy yelped as the newcomer swept the startled prosecutor into a massive hug, tearful hug that made him drop his blazer in alarm.

“I’m so glad you’re okay!” he wept. “I thought I was never going to see you again, sir! I thought you were going to be lost in Scotland forever!”

“No- I’m fine- heaven’s sake, put me down!” Edgeworth choked and writhed in the big man’s grip. “Get- stop it! Detective, stop CRYING on me!”

“Good gracious!” Hershel spluttered.

Phoenix could only laugh.

“Same old detective,” he said, mostly to himself.

“You know him?” Luke asked nervously. “Is he always like this?!”

“Only when he gets _really_ worked up,” Trucy replied.

The detective in question somehow found the strength of mind to stop hugging Edgeworth, although not enough that he could avoid tightly clutching him by the shoulders.

“Are you sure you’re okay, sir?” he asked. “You were gone for so long! I was so scared! Everyone said you were dead!”

“Detective-” Edgeworth tried.

“They ARRESTED me for killing you, sir!” And then it was time for another hug, lifting the hapless prosecutor clear off the floor.

“But as you can see, I am very clearly not dead!” Edgeworth shouted. “Although I _will_ be if you don’t stop waterboarding me with your tears! Now pull yourself together and _put me down!_ ”

It seemed like that command was finally enough to drive his desperation home, and the still-tearful detective lowered him back down to the floor.

“Sorry, pal,” he said with a snivel. “I was worried about you, you know?”

“Yes,” Edgeworth sighed, “you’ve made that patently clear by now.”

“I’m not kidding by the way!” Gumshoe almost yelled. “They really did arrest me for your murder, sir! If you hadn’t called when you did, they would’ve sent me to trial!”

Edgeworth sighed and rubbed his brow in exasperation. Phoenix, meanwhile, almost laughed again. It never failed to be entertaining to watch the Demon Prosecutor’s façade of superiority and smugness disintegrate before his very eyes.

“Have no fear, Detective,” he said. “I shall make sure to have a word with whatever rambunctious officer was foolish enough to believe you capable of taking a life.”

“Oh dear,” said Hershel, finally finding the courage to speak after Gumshoe’s explosive entry. “I do hope you don’t plan on being _too_ harsh, Mr Edgeworth.”

“I’ll be as harsh as I need to in order to get my point across,” Edgeworth replied bluntly.

And before Phoenix could think of any other way to contribute to the conversation, the detective’s dark eyes turned in his direction.

“Mr Wright?” he said softly, no doubt needing time to process the messy figure in front of him.

Phoenix couldn’t blame him for his hesitation. It was probably a rare occurrence for Gumshoe to see somebody even shabbier than him.

“Hey, Detective,” he managed to say. “Long time no see-”

“THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR BRINGING MR EDGEWORTH BACK!”

And before he had a chance to escape, it was Phoenix’s turn to be crushed to Gumshoe’s chest. Arms pinned to his side and chest screaming in complaint, it was a miracle he was still able to breathe even in the slightest.

“It was…” he wheezed. “…no trouble… ihadsomehelp…”

“Hi, Detective Gumshoe!” And like the angel she was, sweet little Trucy came to his rescue. “Do you remember me?”

Phoenix felt himself being lowered to the floor and he stumbled back, gasping for breath.

“Oh, hey!” he heard Gumshoe say. “You were in that trial that got Mr Wright fired! Lucy, right? Didn’t he adopt you or something?”

“It’s Trucy,” Trucy replied, bouncing on her heels, “but you were close!”

“Yeah, I remember you now!” The detective kneeled down to meet her eye level. “Man, you’re just as tiny and adorable as you were back then!”

“Hey, I’ve gotten at least _two_ centimetres taller!” Trucy objected.

Gumshoe laughed and ruffled her hair.

“Sorry,” he said as she giggled too, “but you still got a long way to go, pal. Just keep at it, alright? You might even end up as tall as me someday!”

“I doubt that,” Edgeworth sighed, rolling his eyes as Gumshoe straightened up to his feet.

“Oh!” And at long last, the detective noticed the very obvious top hat. “Didn’t see you there, pal!” He held out a massive, calloused hand to shake. “Detective Dick Gumshoe, LAPD.”

“Professor Hershel Layton,” said Professor Hershel Layton, accepting that hand for a friendly shake. “Gressenheller University and occasionally Scotland Yard. And this young man is my apprentice, Luke.”

“Luke Triton, sir,” said Luke, settling for a polite salute rather than a bone-breaking handshake. “Pleased to meet you!”

“Pleased to meet you too, pal!” Gumshoe replied cheerfully. “It’s always great seeing young people getting involved in law enforcement! Maybe we’ll run into each other back in Japanifornia someday!”

Luke smiled with a bashful little blush, although Phoenix wouldn’t have been surprised if the poor boy was intimidated by a man as large and jovial as the detective.

“So you’re with the Professor, huh?” asked Gumshoe. “Everyone here’s been saying loads about the great Professor Layton. He’s all they ever talk about!”

“Oh dear,” said Hershel, tugging his hat’s brim down over his eyes. “I do hope what you heard was at least partially flattering.”

“Yeah, most of ‘em,” Gumshoe said with a shrug. “Some of ‘em got pretty bitter about you stealing their thunder, but I figure they’re just jealous. After all, you’ve got a way cooler hat than anyone else in this building!”

Luke laughed again.

“I’m not sure it’s just the hat!” he pointed out.

“But it is a _very_ nice hat,” Phoenix made sure to say.

Hershel adjusted the brim again, casting a sideways glance in Phoenix’s direction.

“Indeed it is, my friend,” he said happily.

“Detective,” Edgeworth spoke up, “if you’re finished here, I do believe we should get going. We’ve put these officers through enough trouble as it is without making them wait for me to prove I’m still alive.”

“Oh, sorry!” Gumshoe spun on his heels. “I’ll go up ahead of you and tell ‘em you’re on your way!”

“Thank you,” said Edgeworth, and the detective bounded back the way he had come and disappeared up a flight of stairs.

Finally able to breathe again, Edgeworth picked up his dropped blazer and turned to face the rest of the group.

“And thank _you_ for your assistance, Mr Layton,” he said. “I’m not sure I would be standing here right now had you not taken up on the, ah, _prompt_ to investigate my disappearance.”

Hershel gave him a tip of his hat and a smile.

“And you, young Triton?” Edgeworth went on.

“Yes, sir?” asked Luke.

To Phoenix’s surprise, the teen received a genuine smile.

“I see promise in you,” said Edgeworth. “I do hope you don’t plan to squander what obvious talent you have in regards to the courtroom.”

“I…” Luke’s cheeks glowed a brilliant red. “Thank you, Mr Edgeworth!”

He mimicked the Professor in trying to hide his embarrassment behind his hat.

“Good luck, Uncle Miles!” Trucy jumped forward and hugged him around the legs.

“The same to you, young Trucy,” said Edgeworth, and he gave her a surprisingly affectionate pat on the head. “Don’t go poking around any cold, dank caves for at least another month, understand?”

Trucy giggled as she stepped back, no doubt considering that Uncle Miles had more than enough hugging for one day.

“And Wright…”

Too bad he wasn’t done with it yet.

“Aww,” Phoenix said mockingly, “you don’t have to be all nervous about it, Edgeworth.”

“Wh-”

“Come on, bring it in, buddy.” He held out his arms and beckoned Edgeworth closer. “Bring it in!”

Predictably enough, Edgeworth tutted, sighed, and rolled his eyes, but he nonetheless stepped close enough for Phoenix to wrap him in a far looser and more manageable hug than that which both of them had just suffered.

But tut and sigh though he might, there was no mistaking that pat on the back he gave Phoenix.

“Don’t go climbing any more mountains, okay?” Phoenix told him. “Especially not to play a violin all goddamn night.”

He heard Edgeworth sigh again, although he had a feeling it was from something other than annoyance this time.

“I’ll miss you too,” he replied.

Phoenix took that as his cue to break them apart before this hug could get any more awkward.

“Good luck, Wright,” said Edgeworth.

And with that, he turned and departed in the same direction Gumshoe had taken, and Phoenix watched him until he had disappeared through that same doorway.

He already felt a strange emptiness, knowing this could be the last time he saw his best friend in a while, but he knew he could take comfort in the fact that Edgeworth was safe, secure and among friends and colleagues. Ones who wouldn’t let him go driving off into the Scottish mountains again, whether he liked it or not.

“Well…” Phoenix struggled to find the right words. “…that’s that.”

“Indeed,” said Hershel, giving him a pat on the arm. “I’m sure he’ll be absolutely fine, Phoenix. He seems to be a highly intelligent and capable person, much in the same way as you.”

“Aw, _stop._ ” Even just that one compliment was enough to make Phoenix’s cheeks light up again.

“I think we’d better go, Professor,” Luke chimed in. “I’m not sure Inspector Chelmey would like it if he found out _you_ were the one who proved him wrong again.”

“Yes, I agree,” said Hershel. “At the very least, we needn’t worry about cramming into the Laytonmobile anymore-”

“Shotgun!” cried Trucy.

“Seriously?!” Phoenix squeaked.

“My apologies, young Trucy,” said Hershel, “but I believe that at your age and, ah, height, it may be illegal for you to ride in the front seat-”

“ _Shotgun!_ ”

“I said it first!” Luke added quickly.

“Dammit!” Phoenix spat.

Hershel, meanwhile, just laughed at his annoyance.

“Phoenix,” he said, “you’ll have plenty of time to ride shotgun after we’ve returned Luke to his parents. Is that a term you can accept?”

With no other options left, Phoenix shrugged.

“Yeah, I guess,” he groaned in defeat. “I just hope the Tritons don’t toss me out for looking like a hobo.”

* * *

The drive to the hotel the Tritons had been staying at was a little less lively than the drive to the Yard, thanks in part to the absence of one of their chief party members, but Trucy and Phoenix did their best to fill the Edgeworth-shaped void by telling Hershel and Luke about their respective histories with Detective Gumshoe. It was unfortunate that Trucy didn’t have as much to contribute as Phoenix, having only met the detective on only one occasion, but that only meant that she was as much a member of the audience as Luke and Hershel were, and shared in their mutual enjoyment.

Hershel only wished that he could concentrate on the stories rather than on his driving. He picked up on details about a murdered TV actor who had managed to frame his colleague from beyond the grave, the detective’s desperation to clear Edgeworth’s name following another framing, how he’d almost lost his job after needing to expose the district police chief for murder, corruption and conspiracy…

…and these, Phoenix assured them, were only the _first_ bizarre adventures he had experienced with Gumshoe and Edgeworth. It was unfortunate that they only had time to hear those select few before they arrived at the hotel.

But throughout the entire drive, Hershel couldn’t help but note how quiet Luke had been. The boy leaned against the door, devoid of the satisfaction he’d gained from claiming the front seat, gazing emptily out the window at the passing buildings and pedestrians. He was only able to pass him brief glances, but Hershel couldn’t help noticing, bit by bit, as the colour trickled out of his sweet young apprentice’s face.

By the time they reached the hotel, Luke had come over in a waxy white pallor. As they all climbed out of the car, his hands were trembling, and he had plunged them into his pockets in a futile effort to hide that fact.

“Luke?” Hershel spoke gently as they entered the hotel lobby.

“Professor?” Luke said in an obvious façade of calm.

“Are you alright, my boy?” asked Hershel. “You’ve suddenly come over all pale.”

“I-it’s nothing!” Luke lied. “I’m looking forward to seeing my parents again, I swear!”

“Uh…” Even Phoenix was frowning at him. “Luke, nobody said you weren’t.”

Hershel frowned. He’d learned by now that Luke only ever behaved like this when he was trying to hide something.

“Luke, what did you do?” he asked.

Luke ignored him as he approached the receptionist.

“Excuse me, miss,” he said, continuing his facsimile of calmness. “Could you please inform Mr and Mrs Triton in room 108 that their son is in the lobby? Thank you.”

He stepped back, sighing, as the receptionist picked up her phone.

“Luke, this is very important.” Hershel didn’t try to hide his concern. “You need to tell me what you did.”

“I didn’t do anything, I swear!” cried Luke.

“Luke’s in trouble~!” Trucy sang mockingly.

“Hey, don’t-” Luke’s panic worsened as he noticed the nearby lift lighting to life. “Can you guys please stop? You’re making me nervous!”

“Luke, nobody’s accusing you of anything, alright?” Phoenix spoke with the patience of a saint. “Now please tell us what the problem is.”

Luke’s face didn’t regain any of its colour as he fidgeted his hands around in his pockets.

“Well…” he said hesitantly. “…u-um…”

And then the lift doors opened.

“LUKE!”

“Luke, you’re back!”

Nobody had any time to react before Clark and Brenda Triton dashed out of the lift and fell upon their son in a gigantic three-way hug. Poor Luke could only stand there as his parents piled onto him, clutching him tight, and no doubt he now understood what Phoenix and Edgeworth had experienced earlier that day.

“H-Hi, Mum…” he choked. “…hi Dad…”

“Luke, what in the world happened to you?” Brenda almost shouted as she and her husband released their son. “Where have you been?!”

“Do you have ANY idea how worried we’ve been?!” Clark demanded, clutching Luke by the shoulders. “What were you thinking, just walking out like that in the middle of the night? And with no means of contacting you whatsoever!”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” Luke didn’t have the courage to shake himself out of his father’s grip. “I’m okay! I promise!”

“Luke,” Hershel spoke up, “would you mind explaining yourself?”

“Hershel?” It seemed that Clark had finally noticed the others in the lobby. “So he went with you?”

“Oh, thank goodness.” Brenda looked ready to faint from relief.

“Come on, Luke.” Phoenix folded his arms and glared. “’Fess up.”

The colour finally come back to Luke’s cheeks, but in a far greater quantity than necessary. His face had turned a brilliant strawberry red.

“Luke,” said Hershel, “you told me that you’d asked your parents if you could accompany me on my investigation!”

“Well…” Luke grimaced in embarrassment. “…I didn’t clarify that they’d said yes.”

“Oh my god.” Phoenix sighed.

He perfectly echoed Hershel’s mood as he buried his face in his hands.

* * *

Clark sighed as he ran his fingers through his beard.

“Well,” he said, “I must say it’s a relief to have our son returned to us unharmed, but I’m sorry you had to be put through so much trouble, Hershel.”

He cast an angry glance at Luke, who was seated on the hotel room’s other sofa.

“I had no idea Luke could ever be so disobedient!”

Luke squeezed his hands between his knees, flushed in embarrassment again. As annoyed as he was at having been lied to, Hershel almost felt sorry for the poor boy.

“He was no trouble at all, my friend,” he said. “If anything, his assistance wound up proving vital to our investigations.”

“Yeah, we would’ve been done for if we didn’t have Luke helping us!” Trucy piped up as Brenda set a laden tea tray on the coffee table. “He’s going to be an _awesome_ lawyer when he grows up!”

“A lawyer?” asked Brenda as her husband picked up the teapot. “And here I thought he wanted to follow in Hershel’s footsteps and become an investigator!”

“It just…” Luke somehow blushed even harder. “…turns out I’m good at multiple things.”

His mother giggled and ruffled his already messy hair.

“So Mr Wright,” Clark said as he poured out the tea, “if I’m understanding this properly, you were a lawyer until you were framed and had your license to practise revoked. Is that correct?”

“Yup,” said Phoenix, cuddling Trucy as she leaned into him. “I’m working on catching the guy who messed up my career. Probably got a long way to go, but when I _do_ nail him, I want to make sure it _sticks._ ”

“Good man!” Clark said cheerfully. “I can’t imagine what I would do if I were suddenly confronted by a person who’d ruined my career in such a terrible way. Do be sure to let us all know how it turns out!”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Phoenix replied as he took up a teacup. “When I catch this guy, I’m going to broadcast his guilt across the whole planet. _Everyone_ is going to know that Phoenix Wright is _not guilty._ ”

“Let me know if you need support in that regard,” Hershel told him. “I’m happy to help you however I can.”

Phoenix gave him a noticeably flattered smile.

“Thank you,” he said.

It may have only been a simple response, but something about that smile brought warmth to Hershel’s chest, and he had to force himself not to stare in a terribly ungentlemanly manner.

“And Trucy, you’re a stage magician?” asked Brenda. “That sounds rather exciting!”

“It is!” Trucy replied. “My favourite thing to do is blow the crowd away with the many marvellous miracles of Troupe Gramarye!”

“You should see the kind of tricks Trucy’s capable of,” Luke told his parents. “She helped the Professor escape from getting wrongfully convicted of murder!”

“And I’d do it again in a heartbeat!” Trucy added happily before either her father or Hershel could stop her.

Brenda stared at her, and Clark blinked in unbridled bemusement.

“I’m sorry,” he said, “I think I need a moment to process what my son just said. Hershel, you were nearly convicted of murder?!”

“Did you run away from the trial?” asked Brenda. “I can’t imagine the trouble that landed you in!”

Hershel cleared his throat and cast a sidelong look at Phoenix, who appeared just as uncomfortable as he was.

“Hershel,” said Phoenix, “I think it would be best if we explained things from the beginning.”

“Good idea, Phoenix,” said Hershel, and sipped his tea before it could get cold. “You see, around a week and a half ago, I received a letter notifying me about a relatively famous prosecutor, last seen in the Cairngorm mountains, who had gone missing without a trace…”

And from there, they joined forces to regale the Triton couple with the long, detailed, and exciting story of their exhausting visit to Fatargan. Beginning with the unconventional way that Luke and Hershel had met Trucy, and later reunited with Phoenix, and the train-based trial that had resulted in the arrest of a railway guard whom Luke was still angry at for his blatant disrespect of the Professor. They explained how they had met Dr Wallace on the bus, how strange the village had been right from their arrival, how the night-time streets had been flooded with wandering spirits and echoed with the whistle of a distant violin.

They told Clark and Brenda about the frustrating waste of time that had been Dr Wallace’s trial, the pointless ‘testimony’ of the Teeves and the secrecy of the Oldfarts, and the strange and aloof behaviour of Michaela Skellig. Brenda frowned in anger and disgust when she heard about how Angela had interrogated Hershel and Phoenix for why they were there, and Clark’s nails dug into the sofa’s arm as he listened to how Hershel had been set up to take the fall for Wrenkley Oldfart’s murder. He only stopped when his son warned him that they’d probably have to pay for any damage they caused to the furniture.

Both of them gasped in shock when they learned about how Trucy’s plan had saved Hershel from his guilty verdict at the cost of her father’s mental function, and the horror had only deepened at the realisation that the mystery violinist had been Phoenix’s best friend. Neither of them spoke of it, but both Hershel had a feeling that he and Phoenix mutually agreed not to mention the breakdown Phoenix had suffered that night. The poor man didn’t need pity from people he had only just met, especially when they were already friends of Hershel’s.

Needless to say, the discovery of Angela Skellig’s death and the horrific crimes she had committed prior left both Brenda and Clark horrified, and Brenda hugged her son dangerously tightly when he admitted that the sight of all the blood had made him sick. The knowledge that he, Hershel and Trucy had delved into the caves only made her hug him harder, with Luke having to struggle out of her grip before his face turned blue. Hershel was thankful that Trucy had dozed off by this point; he didn’t like the thought of her reliving the loss of her beloved cloak and hat.

It was obvious Phoenix was embarrassed when he described how Michaela had almost defeated him through sheer stubbornness, and how Miles Edgeworth – not only a prosecutor, but his _defendant_ – had to step in to help him. How they’d managed to hold out until Hershel arrived, Luke and Trucy in tow, and together they had forced Michaela and the rest of the village to accept the reality they had discovered about the Painted King.

And then came the battle that followed, with Hershel showing his bandaged forearm as proof, and Phoenix even more embarrassed by having to admit that he had played for the Horde.

It was all Hershel could do not to shake him by the shoulders and demand that he be proud of himself, for heaven’s sake. Yes, whatever his power was, it was inscrutable and strange and nothing Hershel had even known could be possible, but he had saved dozens of lives by playing the Silver Violin that night and was more than entitled to some degree of pride.

Although, judging by the looks on their faces, the fact that ghosts and psychic powers were real was just as much a revelation to Luke’s parents as it had been to Luke and Hershel.

By the time they finally finished explaining everything that had happened over the past few days, the sun had long since set and they’d had to put the lights on. Trucy had completely fallen on Phoenix’s shoulder, unsurprising with how eventful the last week had been and how long this day had taken to reach its end, and Phoenix gently cradled her to make sure she was comfortable.

When the story came to an end, the group sat in silence, allowing it all to soak in.

“Goodness,” Clark eventually said. “I hate to bring down the mood, but…”

He turned to his son with a frown.

“Luke, I’m now even more annoyed with you for disobeying us and joining this investigation!”

Luke’s line of sight drifted down to the floor.

“…sorry…” he said softly.

His mother gave him a pat on the head.

“But we’re proud of you for what you did, sweetheart,” she told him. “Perhaps you should consider a law major when you move on to university!”

Her son gave a bashful smile.

“It’s LA based, just so you know,” said Phoenix, “but Ivy U’s got a pretty decent law program. Trust me, I’m speaking from experience here.”

“The last time we saw Mr Edgeworth,” Hershel added, “he was reuniting with a friend at Scotland Yard and reporting to them that he was, indeed, still alive. I’m certain it won’t be long before his Yatagarasu friend hears about his safe return.”

“It may sound strange to say,” said Clark, stroking his beard in thought, “but I’d quite like to meet this girl. She must have _some_ nerve to blackmail Professor Layton, of all people.”

“Oh, trust me,” said Phoenix. “Anyone who wants to spend more than five seconds talking to Miles Edgeworth has got to have nerves of steel. That bastard could outstare a basilisk!”

“I suppose it comes with the territory,” Brenda suggested. “If you’re going to face down thieves and murderers in a courtroom, you’ve got to be at least a little bit intimidating or else they’ll walk all over you!”

And just like that, Phoenix came over all embarrassed again, giving her a flustered smile and an awkward little laugh.

“Yeah…” he said, “…I guess…”

“But it’s important not to look too eager,” Luke spoke up before his friend could get too awkward. “I don’t think it’s a good idea to look like you’re enjoying yourself too much, especially if you’re cross-examining a witness…”

He shrank down into his shoulders.

“…such as a recently widowed woman testifying about her husband’s murder…”

“Okay, I hold my hands up to it,” said Phoenix, only raising one hand due to the other being pinned against his side by a sleeping ten-year-old. “I shouldn’t have pushed so hard against Mrs Oldfart. But in my defence, I had my back against the wall. It was pretty much the only idea I had to work with!”

“Phoenix did everything he could to prevent me from getting a wrongful conviction,” Hershel added, “but it was clear to me from the outset that Michaela’s mind was already long since made up. The trial wouldn’t even have happened if it weren’t.”

“And it was just as horrifying to me when I realised Angela was the murderer,” said Luke, fiddling with one of his coat’s toggles.

Clark frowned at him again.

“Are you alright?” he asked. “You’ve come over all green!”

“I think it’s clear by now that Luke’s developed a phobia of blood,” Phoenix explained, “or at least a pretty strong aversion. Like we said, he was nauseous the whole time we were investigating murders-”

“Yes, and when the mopped-up bloodstains were found in the Skellig residence,” Hershel spoke up for him, “Phoenix had to send him home because he had been sick. Although it didn’t do a great deal to quash his appetite, did it, my boy?”

Luke groaned in embarrassment.

“Well, I suppose emptying your stomach would make you relatively hungry,” said Brenda. “Nonetheless, Luke, it was a bad idea to eat so soon afterwards!”

“I know,” said Luke, still fidgeting with a toggle. “I’m sorry. If I do become a lawyer, I’ll have to clip my nose or something so that I can’t smell the blood.”

“And to think part of me had wondered if you would become a doctor,” said Clark. “I suppose that’s safely off the table!”

Luke managed a smile at his father’s joke.

“And to think that such a young girl could conjure a plan that would save Hershel from a false conviction,” said Brenda, smiling faintly as she looked at the sleeping Trucy. “You’re a very lucky man, Mr Wright.”

Phoenix looked down at his daughter, totally dead to the world, and carefully eased his arm around her body to hug her closer.

“I know,” he said softly. “My life got totally upended when I lost my license, but Trucy’s one of the best things that’s ever happened to me.”

He pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead.

“I don’t think I could’ve made it this far if I didn’t have her in my life,” he admitted.

Once again, Hershel did everything he could not to think back to that terrible night.

She looked so peaceful, snoozing in her father’s arms…

“Don’t be swayed, Brenda,” he warned. “This girl is not to be underestimated. She’s as gifted with thrown weapons as she is with lockpicks, and let me tell you, she is an _expert_ at lock picking. Padlocks, railways security systems and barred windows mean absolutely nothing to this little hellion.”

Brenda simply laughed at his deadly serious tone.

“Yes, she certainly looks like a devious little criminal!” she joked. “Just look at her! I’m sure she’s plotting to rob the Tate Modern as we speak!”

The still-sleeping Trucy shuffled and reached her arm around Phoenix’s waist to hug him, and Phoenix brushed her hair away from her face and stroked her chin. He looked as if he could cry from sheer adoration.

He didn’t seem to notice the other four people in the room watching him, but then again, he probably didn’t even notice his own dopey smile.

“Do you remember when you were that small, Luke?” asked Clark. “You really seemed to enjoy falling asleep during a long car journey.”

Luke snatched his hat down over his head to hide his embarrassment.

“Do you know, Hershel,” Clark went on, “that Luke slept through almost our entire drive from Misthallery to London when we moved back?”

“Goodness!” Hershel chuckled. “It must have been quite a surprise to wake up and find yourself having moved from country to city!”

“Dad, please stop!” Luke moaned into his cap.

Clark and Brenda just laughed.

“I’m your father, Luke,” said Clark. “It’s my duty to embarrass you in front of my friends.”

Hershel sighed in contentment.

“Much as I’d like to continue listening to embarrassing stories about when Luke was small,” he said, “I’m afraid we ought to make tracks before it gets too late. It would be better for Trucy to sleep in a proper bed, don’t you agree?”

“Yeah,” said Phoenix, “if she stays here much longer, she’s going to put my leg to sleep.”

“I can’t blame her,” Luke sighed. “The past few days have been exhausting.”

“You can consider _that_ your punishment for disobeying your parents, Luke,” Brenda chided. “As well as a warning not to do it again!”

Her son cringed away from her.

“Trust me, Mum,” he said. “My days as a teenage runaway are over.”

“I should hope so!” added Clark. “If we hadn’t realised you’d run off with Hershel, we would have called the police!”

“But we don’t have anything to worry about,” said Hershel, and he stood up and straightened out his coat. “Everything worked out perfectly fine. And if you would excuse us, my friends, it’s time we headed home.”

Phoenix slipped one of his arms under Trucy’s legs.

“Come on, little magical girl,” he said quietly. “Time to go.”

He stood up as gently as he could while Hershel bid goodbye to his dear friends, including one final hug from Luke that he could tell the poor boy didn’t want to end.

If he wanted to be honest with himself, part of Hershel didn’t want that hug to end either.

But end it did, and Hershel turned away from the Triton family before they could see the tears he could feel stinging his eyes.

He was going to miss them.

He always did.

* * *

Having gently draped Trucy’s sleeping form across the backseat, Phoenix finally claimed his beloved shotgun seat and closed the car door as softly as he could.

“Easy to see how Luke ended up such a sweet kid,” he commented as he and Hershel buckled themselves in.

“Indeed,” Hershel chuckled, and he wished his car’s engine could be quieter as he kicked it into gear. “Clark and Brenda have been my friends for close to two decades now, and it’s been an absolute joy getting to hear from them regarding Luke’s upbringing.”

“Hear from them?” Phoenix asked as they pulled out onto the road. “You didn’t get to see him?”

Hershel couldn’t help but sigh.

“I’m afraid I began working towards my teaching position around the time he was born,” he confessed, “and I was so busy that I simply didn’t have any time to visit. Not that I didn’t want to see him, of course. I simply never had any opportunity.”

Phoenix sighed and leaned his arm on the car door.

“And now he lives in America,” he remembered.

It was difficult not to sigh again when Hershel remembered that.

“Yes, I know,” he said. “Should he come your way, do watch over him, won’t you? He’s shown that he’s capable of handling himself, and I certainly trust Clark and Brenda to the ends of the earth, but I can’t help but worry about him from time to time.”

“Hey,” said Phoenix. “I’m pretty sure that just means you’re normal.”

And suddenly Hershel didn’t feel quite so saddened anymore.

“I do hope so,” he said.

His curiosity led him to check the time on his dashboard. 7:17pm. They’d spent far more time talking with Clark and Brenda than he ever could have expected.

“Now then, what should we do about dinner?” he asked. “My apologies, but it’s far too late in the evening for me to think about cooking anything decently healthy or satisfying.”

“Uh…” Phoenix groaned and hissed through gritted teeth. “I don’t know. What’re you in the mood for?”

“Hmm…” Hershel tapped his finger on the steering wheel in thought. “I can’t quite put my finger on why, but I rather fancy a curry. My treat.”

To his surprise, Phoenix groaned even harder.

“I hate to say it,” he said, “but you’re going to _have_ to pay. That Jack Hill up in Fatargan practically bled me dry for our stay in her inn! I went up to Scotland with £105 in my wallet and I’ve only got £15 left!”

“Not to worry,” Hershel said before he could curse himself too much. “I know a wonderful little place not far from my home. Clark and I used to frequent it regularly for a post-exam pick-me-up. They provide the most _wonderful_ naan bread.”

Phoenix glanced to the back of the car.

“Are we going to get anything for Truce?” he asked.

Hershel tapped his finger on the steering wheel again.

“I say we let her sleep,” he decided. “but it wouldn’t be fair if she were left to go hungry. We can get something to reheat for her at a later date, or for if she wakes up before we get home.”

He activated his indicator before turning at the next intersection, and once they were around the bend, he realised Phoenix had yet to speak again.

He glanced over to check that everything was alright and noticed his friend watching him with a sweet little smile.

“You’d make a pretty great dad,” he said. “You know that?”

Hershel couldn’t help but smile right back.

“So I’ve been told,” he replied.

* * *

It was quite late and rather cold by the time the three of them arrived back at Hershel’s home, and Phoenix took Trucy up to one of the spare bedrooms – one he’d been told was otherwise occupied by a young lady named Flora, but she was currently at a boarding school and wouldn’t mind Trucy borrowing her bed – while Hershel took their dinner into his living room.

A gentleman would typically use the dining room, he reasoned, but they deserved some time to relax. Not only that, but he had a television program that he seemed quite eager to show to Phoenix and was thoroughly convinced that he was going to enjoy it.

As a result, Phoenix returned downstairs to find Hershel waiting for him and a full Indian spread on his coffee table, already holding a TV remote in one hand.

The show turned out to be something called Blackadder 2, Phoenix soon discovered, which Hershel explained was vastly superior to the show it was a sequel to.

Phoenix couldn’t avoid thinking that it might have been a bad idea to watch such a show while they were eating their dinner, especially something as spicy as this butter chicken quietly turned out to be. He found himself almost choking on a mouthful of sauce and onion bargee at least three separate times in his body’s desperate attempt to laugh.

Curse the American broadcasting companies for refusing to import shows like these…

And with each episode’s credit sequence, Hershel would mention again that he had featured on Time Team with one of the leading actors. A rather nice bloke, he happily recalled. Apparently it was sadly quite rare that a celebrity’s interest in the sciences was anything other than performative, especially a science as extensive and ever evolving as archaeology.

And then he tore the last piece of naan in two and offered Phoenix the larger of the halves.

Phoenix couldn’t help but accept.

He didn’t even remember the last time he had felt so relaxed.


	2. Chapter 2

“Are you two warm enough?” asked Hershel.

“I’m good,” Phoenix replied. “Truce?”

Trucy stood on tiptoe and craned to look past the throng of people that surrounded her.

“Compared to up in Scotland,” she replied once she was able to see the stage, “this place is an oven!”

And yet as she spoke, her breath curled into mist in front of her face.

Still, she was absolutely correct. London was devoid of the snowfall that had blanketed Fatargan after their arrival in the Cairngorms, and the frost that had coated the ground and plant life when they had first woken up was already melting in the weak sunlight.

As a matter of fact, it was warm enough for them and quite a number of other Londoners – their numbers perhaps padded by tourists braving the English winter – to have filled the Globe Theatre to capacity for a seasonal performance of Twelfth Night. It had been a surprise to Hershel when Phoenix had suggested seeing a play at the Globe, and almost as surprising to discover that the Globe was open in January, but Hershel wasn’t in the mood to complain.

It was always a delight to introduce foreigners to the delights of English culture, especially those as enthusiastic to experience it as the Wrights.

“And you can see well enough?” Hershel asked.

Trucy stretched up on her toes again.

“Thank you for bringing us here, Uncle Hershel!” she whispered. “This place is so cool!”

“A bit weird that we’re all standing,” said Phoenix, “but I guess this is how they did it back in…”

He frowned in thought.

“…it was the Tudors, right?”

“Almost correct,” Hershel told him. “The Stuart era would be a closer estimate. The original theatre was constructed in 1599, although a fire required it to be reconstructed in 1613, and then-”

“A fire?!” Phoenix whispered in alarm.

“Ssh!” hissed a fellow attendee behind them.

“Sorry!” Phoenix hissed back.

“I’ll tell you after the play,” Hershel assured him.

Any hope of a continued discussion, or objection on Phoenix’s part, was cut off as Malvolio confidently strode onto the stage in vibrant yellow stockings, sparking a ripple of sniggering and giggling that flooded through the audience. Hershel heard at least one whisper of “oh my gosh, he actually did it!” and another of “that poor bastard!” while someone to his right muttered “Olivia is going to _hate_ this.”

Hershel found himself smiling in giddy childish glee at the sounds of appreciation. There was nothing quite like knowing others were enjoying the same thing as he was, and when it was something as comparatively niche as a Shakespeare play, he couldn’t help but feel a sense of sheer delight.

Delight that somehow only deepened as he felt Phoenix step closer to him, no doubt huddling for warmth, and it was difficult not to lean into the folds of his thick, cushy jacket.

“You sure you can see alright, Trucy?” Phoenix whispered. “You look like you’re struggling a little down there.”

Trucy groaned in effort as she strained to see the stage again.

“I’m trying,” she whispered back, “but I’m too small!”

“Hmm…” Out of the corner of his eye, Hershel saw Phoenix stroking his chin and looking around them. “I’d lift you up, but that’d be unfair to the folks behind us.”

It didn’t take Hershel long to decide what to do.

“Then allow me,” he said, and he gently removed his beloved top hat.

“What?” gasped Phoenix, accepting the headwear Hershel passed to him. “Hershel-”

“I’m a lot stronger than I look,” Hershel interrupted before he could be stopped. “Allow me, my dear.”

He picked up Trucy under her arms and lifted her, giggling all the way, up over his head and onto his shoulders, where she took hold of his head and quickly settled into place.

“Comfortable?” he asked.

“Mm-hm!” Trucy happily replied. “Thank you!”

She was exceptionally light, Hershel considered. Far lighter than Luke had been when he’d last carried the boy like this, which could likely be blamed on Luke’s insatiable appetite. Not only that, but she didn’t squirm half as much. Just a wiggle of her toes and she was satisfied, her attention eagerly returned to the stage, where Olivia had returned to the stage and Malvolio was grinning from ear to ear as a result.

Before Hershel had a chance to wonder if the actor’s cheeks hurt, he felt warmth against his arm. He glanced to his side and saw that Phoenix had moved even closer to him so that he could cuddle his daughter.

A chilly breeze brushed against his cheeks, and Hershel decided he was _not_ going to complain. He leaned into the heat of Phoenix’s body, nestling his shoulder into the taller man’s chest, and they shared the mutual comfort of warmth as they continued watching the performance.

* * *

“That was so fun!” Trucy was grinning as wide as Malvolio as she pranced down the street. “I’m so glad Viola and Sebastian found each other!”

“The whole time each of them was on stage,” said Phoenix, “I was just _pleading_ inside my head, begging them to see each other and recognise each other and I think I came THIS close-” he held up a hand, thumb and forefinger pressed together. “-to screaming when it finally happened!”

Hershel couldn’t help but laugh at their enthusiasm as he walked alongside them.

“Yes,” he agreed, “it was extremely satisfying when they finally reunited. I do believe I almost shed a tear.”

He heard Phoenix snort in laughter, but he didn’t care one bit.

“So Trucy,” the taller man said to his daughter, “you understood everything that was going on? Everything they were saying?”

“It was really fancy,” said Trucy, “but I could tell what was going on, no problem! I felt so bad for Malvolio though. What did he even _do_ for everyone to be so mean to him?”

“They were mostly just teasing, sweetie,” Phoenix told her. “Friends tease each other all the time, you know. Plus you saw how much of a jerk he was to Sir Toby, Sir Andrew, and Maria just for enjoying their day off. I mean, dost thou think, because _thou_ art virtuous, there shall be no more cakes and ale?”

Hershel had to remind himself not to stare, even with how impressed he was at Phoenix’s perfect recital.

Trucy, meanwhile, tapped on her chin in thought.

“I guess you have a point there,” she said, “but I’m not surprised he swore revenge on them after all the stuff they did. But did he really think that’d make Olivia love him?”

“You’d be surprised, young lady,” said Hershel. “The pursuit of romantic revenge can drive people to do absolutely ridiculous things. Oh, the stories I could tell…”

Well, if he wanted to be honest to himself, he’d have to admit that it all boiled down to one very simple anecdote, but ‘a classmate of mine was jealous that the girl he was sweet on liked me instead of him’ wasn’t anywhere near as exciting as all of the detail he could go into.

“Thank god I won’t have to explain everything to you,” Phoenix said with a sigh of relief. “I know Shakespeare’s language can be a bit hard to understand sometimes, but I think Twelfth Night is one of the easier ones. More than any of the historical ones, at least.”

A gentleman _doesn’t_ stare, Hershel reminded himself again, but it was clear by now that the performance they had just watched was more than just a passing fancy for his American companion.

“Phoenix,” he said, “I had no idea you were interested in Shakespeare’s works.”

“Well, um…” Phoenix gave the back of his neck a nervous scratch. “Before I started studying law, my major in college was art. Partly visual arts to pad out my timetable, but most of it was Shakespeare.”

“Daddy, you nerd!” Trucy giggled.

“Hey, it was interesting, alright?” Phoenix argued back. “Shakespeare’s a lot more down-to-earth than people think!”

“Your father speaks the truth, young Trucy,” Hershel spoke up. “As you saw just now, Twelfth Night is a romantic comedy that translates impressively well to a contemporary audience, as do quite a number of Shakespeare’s plays.”

He looked down at her with a smile.

“I recommend you take an interest in them now,” he told her, “as it’ll prove quite useful when you inevitably study these plays in your English classes.”

Trucy frowned and hummed in thought.

“I don’t know…” she said hesitantly.

Phoenix and Hershel exchanged a look, and it was obvious they were thinking along the same wavelength.

“Hamlet is a story about a prince being told by his ghost dad to get revenge,” said Phoenix.

His daughter’s frown vanished.

“Sold!” she chirped.

“Macbeth is a story about a man being convinced by a trio of witches to snatch a throne for himself,” said Hershel.

“Double sold!” cried Trucy.

“Midsummer Night’s Dream is about fairies messing with humans,” said Phoenix.

“Okay, okay, I get it!” Trucy raised her hands defensively as she walked. “Shakespeare’s awesome!”

Exchanging another look, Hershel and Phoenix laughed at how easy it had been to convince her of the wonders of the bard.

Another cold breeze brushed between them, and Hershel nestled down into his scarf. It had been bearable in the theatre, with its raised walls and crowded audience pit providing protection and insulation against winter’s chill, but now they were exposed to it again and he longed for the comfort of his beloved car’s interior.

“So Hershel, you were saying?” he heard Phoenix say. “About the Globe burning down?”

Hershel eased himself out of his scarf so that he was free to speak.

“I was,” he said. “Thank you for reminding me. In the year 1613, it was believed that to set off a cannon would be a fantastic way to announce the arrival of the reigning monarch of the time, but unfortunately the roof was thatched and quite easily ignited.”

Phoenix’s eyes widened in shock, and Trucy paused walking to stare back as well.

“…damn,” Phoenix said softly.

“I guess that’s why all the cartoons I see make it a red carpet and trumpets,” Trucy considered as she started walking again.

“You mustn’t pity Mr Shakespeare too much,” Hershel warned them. “After all, he did steal the theatre before it achieved its fame.”

And then _both_ of the Wrights froze in alarm. Hershel had to stop too before he walked right into Trucy’s body.

“I’m sorry,” said Phoenix, “I think I misheard you there. It almost sounded like you said William Shakespeare _stole a theatre._ ”

Hershel smiled. This was going to be fun.

“I tell you no word of a lie, my friends,” he said, and prompted them to keep walking so that they didn’t block the pavement. “Dissatisfied with the rent he was forced to pay for his building, Shakespeare waited until his landlord had left on holiday before deconstructing the theatre and rebuilding it, in its entirety, on the other side of the river.”

Trucy almost had to stop walking again because she was laughing so hard.

“He…” Phoenix’s voice was quiet and numb. “he stole… a _theatre…_ because he didn’t want to pay the rent…”

“That is what I believe is called a ‘theft of the century’,” Hershel commented, not caring how idiotic he looked for smiling so much.

“Oh my god, that’s incredible,” Phoenix said breathlessly. “I respected Shakespeare before, but…”

He pressed his fingers into his hair, threatening to knock his hat off.

“Man, I wish I could’ve met the guy!” he chuckled. “He stole an entire building! A theatre! A MASSIVE theatre!”

“Because he didn’t want to pay his rent!” Trucy eagerly reminded him. “Daddy, he’s just like you!”

“Aw, Truce!” Phoenix whined playfully. “Now you’ve got me wishing we could just magic our apartment into a different building and force everyone to be cool with it!”

“I’ll get there someday, Dad!” Trucy replied cheerfully. “I swear it on my best gold wand!”

Her enthusiasm was infectious. As they approached the Laytonmobile, waiting patiently by the side of the road, Hershel’s smiling was beginning to make his cheeks ache.

“This was only one of the many things to do in London,” he pointed out to them as he unlocked the car. “I’m not sure you even have time to experience all the joys this city has to offer. When do you depart for America?”

“Uh…” Phoenix hesitated with one hand on the door handle. “Friday. Our flight’s at around 5pm, so we don’t have to get up at the crack of dawn or anything.”

“Oh!” Hershel said cheerfully, and popped his door open. “Coincidentally, the final day of my Christmas leave.”

He made himself comfortable in the driver’s seat while Phoenix sat down beside him and Trucy jumped into the backseat behind them.

“But today’s Monday!” she pointed out. “How much can we fit in?”

“Given that we’re in winter,” said Hershel as they buckled themselves in, “and therefore safely outside the prime tourist season, you’d be surprised how much we’ll be able to achieve.”

He leaned around the side of his seat.

“What say you to going for a ride on the London Eye?” he asked.

“Oh my gosh!” Trucy lit up like a firework. “YES!”

“Uh…” Phoenix, however, didn’t look nearly as excited. “The London Eye, that’s…”

His cheeks were pale and tinged with green.

“That’s, uh…” He swallowed hard. “…that’s that big Ferris wheel thing, right? I, um…”

It didn’t take long for Hershel to realise what the problem was, and he remembered what Trucy had told him on the morning they had met her, regarding a certain rollercoaster incident.

“Ah.” He relaxed his hand away from the ignition he had been reaching for. “My apologies, Phoenix. I forgot about your acrophobia for a moment.”

“I-it’s fine,” Phoenix told him, shrinking down into his seat. “It’s not like I talk about it every single day. Not like it’s something I’m comfortable talking about.”

Hershel frowned.

He stroked his chin, processing this new information. What was the best way to solve this puzzle? How could he resolve it to an outcome that would be enjoyable for all three of them?

“Hmm…” He didn’t want Phoenix to be left out of any of their activities, but he’d had his heart set on the London Eye almost from the moment he’d woken up that morning.

“Trucy,” said Phoenix, “you can go for a ride without me if you like.”

“What?” Trucy’s jaw dropped in horror. “Daddy, are you sure?”

“I wouldn’t want you to feel left out,” Hershel told him.

“It’s fine, I swear!” Phoenix argued back. “I don’t want to stop you guys having fun. You’ll enjoy it a lot more if you don’t have me curled up and shivering and puking on the floor.”

The mental image was one that Hershel immediately tried to push out of his head.

If it was anything like Luke’s reaction to the blood on Ms Skellig’s floor had apparently been, it seemed like the best course of action would be to avoid that possibility at all costs.

But at the same time, it would be a shame to deprive them of the one-in-a-lifetime experience of riding the London Eye.

“Well…” It seemed like Phoenix’s proposal could be the best possible outcome. “If you say so, then alright.”

Phoenix’s response was a faint, grateful smile.

“If you really want to stay out of it,” said Trucy, “then keep an eye out, okay? I’ll wave to you!”

“I’ll wave back if I notice you,” Phoenix replied as Hershel switched on the engine. “Let me know how much of the city you can see. And how terrifying it is up there.”

Trucy giggled as they pulled out onto the road.

“Daddy, don’t be a coward!” she chided.

* * *

It was even colder down by the river, and Phoenix pocketed his hands and pressed his arms into his body to push back against the creeping chill.

Somehow it didn’t surprise him that the sky overhead was a thick blanket of pale grey clouds, the sun struggling to penetrate the layer. He wouldn’t be surprised if it started either snowing or raining before the day was over.

He looked up, the whistle of a breeze hissing in his ears, and tried to find the pod that Hershel and Trucy had boarded. It was difficult to see inside them from his vantage point, sitting on a low wall not far from the boarding platform, but… yes, he could just about make out a little arm delightedly waving to him from a pod somewhere near the top.

He waved back and hoped she would see him from all the way up there, but just straining his eyes to try to see her with this paralysing distance between them was sparking his fight or flight reflex and he quickly looked back down at the river instead.

Hershel hadn’t been kidding about them being out of the tourist season. He had expected masses of people crowding the area, willing to wait hours to board the wheel and go for a terrifying ride, but he could see no more than three people patiently waiting at the boarding platform for a door to be opened and allow them on.

People far more courageous than him, he couldn’t help but think.

He couldn’t imagine how much fun Trucy must be having up there. What fun little factoids was Hershel telling her about his city? What sights must he be pointing out to her? Could they see all the way out beyond the city limits and to the countryside that lay beyond?

He sincerely hoped she was having fun up there. She deserved it after everything she’d been through. Not just in the past week, losing half of her beloved magician’s attire and being forced to watch her adoptive father break down, but from everything she’d gone through in the past few years. Losing her mother, her father abandoning her, her uncle imprisoned, taken in by a mess of a man who could barely take care of his own damn self…

With all of that to handle, she deserved to have a little bit of fun.

Too bad he’d been unable to provide it by himself.

He looked up at the wheel again, even though his evil brain screamed at him not to. From down here on the ground, it looked almost frozen in time, and the wind blowing past his ears didn’t help with that impression in the slightest. He had to squint to make sure it was moving at all.

The pod with Hershel and Trucy in it must have moved further up. He couldn’t see either of them anymore. Not from this distance.

“Slow, isn’t it?”

The voice almost made Phoenix jump.

He’d been so engrossed in watching the wheel that he hadn’t seen the newcomer approaching, and hadn’t noticed them sitting down beside him on the low concrete wall.

He didn’t know how that could be possible. This man’s hair was a bright auburn, tied back into a long ponytail by a bright pink ribbon, and his glasses glinted light right into Phoenix’s eyes. His tanned face was half hidden behind a fluffy white fur stole, wrapped around his neck like a scarf, a harsh contrast against the black and deep grey layers of the cloak that wrapped around the rest of his body.

He looked as though he needed a mask or some gigantic hat to don with a flourish before tossing a rose at somebody.

It was _extremely_ difficult not to stare at somebody in such extravagant clothing.

“Hm?” was the only response Phoenix could think of.

“The wheel,” the stranger said. “It’s ridiculously slow. Do you know a full rotation takes half a bloody hour?”

Phoenix wasn’t sure what to say. The man’s outfit said Opera House, but his voice said Potions Class.

“…wow.” Not the most dignified reply he could have had, but it was all he could come up with.

“Small wonder the pods have benches in them,” the cloaked man grumbled. “It just isn’t possible to stand on a moving surface for that long. Try it yourself and you’ll collapse from exhaustion if you don’t just plain lose your balance.”

Phoenix cleared his throat and cursed himself for feeling so awkward.

“I, uh…” he said hesitantly. “I’d rather not. My friend and my daughter are fine, but I, um… I don’t do heights well.”

The man glanced sideways at him. His eyes were a similar colour to his hair, although reddish-brown was far stranger to see in eyes than it was in hair.

“Hm.” He looked back up at the wheel. “I suppose it isn’t for everyone.”

Phoenix shuffled in place. The cold concrete wasn’t doing much to keep him warm, but there weren’t any benches in sight unless he wanted to venture into the nearby park, and he didn’t want Hershel and Trucy to have to hunt him down once they’d finished their ride.

The man sitting beside him didn’t seem to notice. His eyes were rigidly fixed on the wheel, and Phoenix didn’t dare get close enough to try to figure out which pod he was watching.

“You waiting for someone?” he asked.

The stranger glanced at him, an eyebrow raised in obvious curiosity. He almost seemed confused that someone would be trying to make conversation, as if the mere fact that he was dressed like he had a 1700s-themed wedding at 6pm and a mission to rescue Sailor Moon at 7pm wasn’t enough of a talking point itself.

“No,” he said, his gaze drifting downwards. “Not really. Quite frankly, I shouldn’t even be in this blasted city. Not when there’s a risk that…”

His sigh billowed mist into the air in front of his stole.

“Never mind.”

He looked back up at the wheel.

Phoenix tried to follow his gaze, but this guy’s mere presence had made it impossible to focus. He had some serious guts to go walking around in public dressed like _that,_ and if Phoenix didn’t make a comment on it soon, he felt as though he might implode from sheer temptation.

But it had to be flattering, he told himself. A guy like this had at least a 96% chance of carrying a sword somewhere under that cloak of his.

“…that cloak looks comfy,” he remarked.

The stranger looked down at his cloak, pulling the fluff of his stole down and tucking it under his chin to get a better view. He was handsome, Phoenix considered, in a cool and likeable teacher sort of way. His outfit said Opera House and his voice said Potions Class, but his face said Overqualified University Professor.

And something about that reminded Phoenix of Hershel for some reason…

“It is,” the man responded, and he looked back up at the wheel. “On a day like this, nothing is better for warming the body.”

“Where’d you get it?” Phoenix asked hopefully.

“Nowhere you’d be able to obtain one, I’m afraid,” the stranger replied. “It started life as a part of a theatre costume. Now it’s simply a holdover from a better, more enjoyable time.”

He lifted his arm as he spoke, allowing the fabric to flow down like water, and Phoenix noticed the unmistakable sleeve of a black blazer.

What the hell kind of man walked around in daylight, in the middle of London, wearing a suit and what he’d just admitted was a costume cloak? Not to mention the fur stole!

“Damn,” Phoenix said, trying to bury all the questions he wanted to ask. “I kind of hoped I could get one for myself.”

The man blew out a cold-sounding laugh.

“Thank you,” he said. “It isn’t often I encounter a genuine admirer of my attire. Most folks remain content to stand and stare or…” He shrugged. “…sit and stare, I suppose.”

He looked sideways at Phoenix again.

Phoenix felt even stranger. _Why_ did this guy seem so goddamn familiar?

“As for you…”

The way he frowned at Phoenix gave him the sensation of being scrutinised from top to bottom, but those terracotta eyes kept wandering upwards no matter how many times this guy tried to look him over in his entirety.

“My hat?” asked Phoenix. “It’s my hat, right?”

The stranger blinked at him.

“It’s certainly…” Here it came. “…eye-catching…”

Phoenix sighed.

“Come on, buddy,” he groaned. “Say what you want to say. Dancing around it like that’s just embarrassing.”

The long-haired man raised his eyebrow again.

“Are you sure?” he asked.

“Hey, I’m pretty thick-skinned,” Phoenix said. “Hit me with your best shot.”

The stranger looked ahead again, but he couldn’t hide his frown.

“That is the ugliest, most ridiculous piece of headwear I have ever seen in my life,” he spat. “I can barely even stand to look at you for fear the sight of it will burn my eyes clear out of my skull. I have no idea how you can stand to wear it in the knowledge that every single person who so much as turns in your direction shall be instantly blinded as though by a laser.”

He glanced in Phoenix’s direction, no doubt to make sure he was still paying attention.

“I certainly hope it’s comfortable enough to keep your head warm,” he went on, “because it does absolutely nothing for the comfort of any person unfortunate enough to exist in your vicinity.”

“My daughter made it for me,” Phoenix cut in.

The stranger recoiled in horror. The way that fur moved indicated that he was opening and shutting his mouth at random, struggling to figure out what to say.

Phoenix couldn’t avoid staring anymore. Why had his statement caused such an extreme reaction?

“Hate to kill your buzz,” he said, “but I just figured you should know.”

The man took a deep breath, cleared his throat, and tried to settle down again.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m… I should have known better than to speak so harshly.”

He sighed and rubbed his face, knocking his glasses askew.

“This is ridiculous,” he grumbled. “I don’t even know who you are!”

Phoenix waited until he had corrected those glasses, although judging by his lack of squinting as he straightened them, the question was raised of whether they were even necessary.

“If it makes you feel better,” Phoenix said once the stranger had straightened himself out, “I’ve pretty much gotten used to people I don’t know throwing insults at me. Stung at first, but now it’s pretty much just a part of my life.”

“Are you serious?” The man sounded so astounded that his voice cracked. “That is profoundly worrying, man!”

Phoenix just shrugged.

“In my line of work, it just comes with the territory,” he explained. “Not that I’m exactly comfortable talking about that line of work anymore.”

He could see the stranger’s cheeks darken behind his stole. Phoenix had embarrassed him. He looked back up at the wheel as if trying to pretend none of that had happened.

Hard to blame him if Phoenix wanted to be honest. He probably hadn’t expected this weird American to start chatting with him after his innocuous comment about how slow the wheel was, and now he’d just made a fool of himself by insulting a child’s hard work.

Still, that was rather an extreme reaction to have to that revelation, wasn’t it? One would’ve thought it was Phoenix’s _late_ daughter who’d made the hat.

It would probably be a bad idea to probe deeper into that, and Phoenix would have come to that conclusion even if this wasn’t a total stranger.

Yet his brain still screamed at him that he KNEW this man.

He tried to silence it by looking back up at the wheel, and he noticed that the pods definitely _had_ moved somewhat since he’d last checked it, but it still looked almost totally still. He could just about make out the blocky silhouette of Hershel’s hat, gradually making its way down, but at this speed, were they ever going to reach the bottom?

“I see what you mean,” he said to this new acquaintance. “That thing is _way_ too slow.”

“If I recall correctly,” the stranger said, “the wheel moves at a speed of roughly 0.6pmh. That is to say, average walking speed.”

Phoenix whistled in amazement.

“Damn,” he said. “No wonder it takes so long to go around. Must be a pain to stop it every time someone wants to get on.”

“It doesn’t stop.”

Phoenix was almost startled by that response.

“What?!” he spluttered.

“The wheel doesn’t stop moving,” the stranger explained. “Not unless a person with some disability wants to board.”

He looked at Phoenix again, this time with a wry smirk.

“If you wish to go for a half-hour long trek 135m up into the air and back,” he continued, “you have to enter the pod while it’s moving. Quite a challenge, wouldn’t you agree?”

Phoenix honestly wasn’t sure what to say.

From the sounds of things, boarding one of those pods was equivalent to jumping onto a person’s back while they were walking past, and with no hope of convincing them to stop. The sort of thing that required precision timing and perfect execution, or else you’d just end up face down on the pavement.

Or swimming in the Thames, in this case. Oh man, and in the dead of winter? That would be a _nightmare._

“No wonder Hershel insisted on helping Trucy get on!” He looked up at the wheel again. “Jeez, that’s ridiculous!”

He didn’t get any response.

He had expected some snide Edgeworthian comment, as this guy had definitely proven himself capable of such remarks, but instead there was just another whistle of freezing wind.

When Phoenix looked over to see if this man had got up and walked away without him noticing, he saw that he was definitely still there, but…

Why did he look so wistful?

Why did he have obvious tears brimming in his eyes?

And why was he reaching into his cloak?

“What?” Phoenix asked him.

The man blinked away a tear that trickled unhindered down his cheek.

“Oh, Hershel…”

Phoenix’s heart started pounding again.

“What, you…” he started.

From what he’d been able to tell, only Hershel’s closest friends were allowed to address him by his first name, yet this Phantom of the Opera-looking guy obviously knew who Phoenix was referring to. He was staring right at the pod Hershel and Trucy were in, for crying out loud!

“You know the Professor?” Phoenix asked, trying not to sound too much like he was demanding.

The stranger pulled something out of his cloak, and Phoenix could see something else, thin and black, connecting it to his neck.

“I suppose you could say that,” he said softly.

Squinting a little closer, Phoenix could see what he had pulled out of his cloak and started fiddling with.

It was a pendant. Some kind of pale crystal. Phoenix wasn’t a geologist or a gemologist or whatever the hell a person who studied gemstones was called, but he would have said it looked rather like an opal if it wasn’t casting a faint blue glow on the stranger’s fingers.

“Huh.” He leaned forward to get a better look. “That thing’s pretty.”

The stranger held up the crystal. The pendant was simple – just a ring of silver wrapping around one end of it and securing it to a length of black string by a small hoop – but the way the man gazed at it was like he was looking at the grave of somebody he loved.

“It is, isn’t it?” he replied sadly. “It’s held up remarkably well. You’d never suspect that it was twenty years old.”

He held it to his chest, burying his fingers in his stole, and looked back up at the wheel with an unmistakable tear in his eye.

“I wonder if he still has it?” he said softly.

Phoenix almost wanted to get up and run away.

There was a _story_ here. One that he didn’t want to hear any of if it would make the storyteller uncomfortable, and it was obvious it would. He should have known that there was a lot to this guy from the moment he met him, what with the outfit and all, but he had a feeling that his story was fraught with tragedy.

Best not to press for more details.

Almost as soon as Phoenix decided not to ask any more questions, the stranger stood up and tucked his pendant away.

“Well, I’d better make myself scarce,” he said, and he straightened out his cloak. “Not that I’m the subject of a manhunt or anything, but there are certain lives that would be improved by a lack of my presence.”

He walked past the still-waiting ex-lawyer to leave.

“I’m Phoenix, by the way,” Phoenix called before he got too far away. “What’s your name?”

The stranger paused and glanced back over his shoulder.

“Des,” he said flatly. “Just Des.”

And with that, he walked away. Phoenix couldn’t help but watch his retreating form, his cloak and ribbon and ponytail billowing with every step into the wind, until he rounded a corner and completely disappeared from view.

Phoenix could only sit there, questions and confusion milling around in his head.

Des?

Just _Des?_

Who was he? How did he know Hershel? Why did he seem so melancholy at the mention of the Professor’s name?

And why in the name of Tuxedo Mask was he dressed like _that?!_

All these questions and more were _absolutely_ going to go unanswered for the rest of his life, and it didn’t take long for Phoenix to conclude that he was just going to have to live with that.

Damn it all.

He wanted to get up and race after that stranger, demanding to know who the hell he was and shouting so loud and angrily that the whole city could hear him, but where would be the dignity in that? And if he _was_ someone familiar to Hershel, then it was likely Hershel would be annoyed at him for bothering his friend (if a friend was, indeed, what he was).

A lose-lose situation if ever Phoenix had encountered one.

“Dad!”

Trucy’s voice cut into his thoughts and he jumped up from the wall to sweep her up into a hug.

“Hey, sweetie!” He picked her up and cuddled her to his chest as Hershel approached with a smile. “So how was the view?”

“It was amazing!” Trucy cried, grinning from ear to ear. “You could see all the way out to the countryside!”

“Part of me hoped we could see out to the little town I grew up in,” said Hershel, “but no such luck. But yes, the view is very lovely. I’m quite sad you didn’t join us.”

“Hey, like I said,” said Phoenix, shifting Trucy to the other side of his body so that he could see Hershel better, “I didn’t want to bring the mood down. What else did you see, Truce?”

“We could see all the way down the Thames and almost out to sea!” Trucy cheered. “The water was so wide and blue! It was _terrifying!_ And Uncle Hershel told me a whale swam up the river once! A WHALE swam up the Thames, Daddy!”

“Seriously?!” Phoenix couldn’t even picture something as massive as a _whale_ navigating its way into a river in the city. “I’m surprised there was room for it! Hershel, is that true?”

There was no response.

Hershel was staring down the waterfront path in the direction the stranger in the cloak had disappeared in. His expression was indecipherable.

Was he curious?

Afraid?

Angry?

“Hershel?” Phoenix couldn’t help frowning.

Had that stranger done something to hurt him?

“Hm?” Hershel seemed like he’d forgotten Phoenix was there.

“Hershel,” said Phoenix, “are you okay?”

“Oh, ah…” Hershel cleared his throat and dragged his gentlemanly front back into position. “Yes. Don’t worry, Phoenix. I’m perfectly fine.”

He looked back down the waterfront.

“I just…” And then he had come over all contemplative again. “…thought I saw someone I knew for a moment…”

He adjusted his hat as if trying to hide his expression, but Phoenix definitely noticed how deliberately he pulled that smile up when he turned back to him and his daughter.

“It’s nothing you need to worry about,” he lied, so obviously that Phoenix was surprised he didn’t conjure a full set of Psyche-Locks. “I’m alright, I promise. What would you like to do next?”

Again Phoenix got the sense that even though he had a million questions, he wouldn’t want to hear the answers to any of them.

“What _can_ we do?” he asked.

Hershel seemed taken aback by that query, and he raised his hand to his chin to stroke it in thought.

“Goodness,” he said, “where would I even start?”

Still sitting against her father’s hip, Trucy yawned wide and loud. It took all of Phoenix’s willpower not to follow suit.

“Maybe, uh, we should pace ourselves,” he suggested. “We’ve got until Friday, after all. What if we go and get a late lunch?”

And with that, Hershel immediately brightened up again, his dark eyes twinkling with joy.

“I know a simply splendid little place not far from here,” he told his companions. “I have no idea how the two of you feel about varieties of tea besides English Breakfast, but the café I speak of has over twenty different blends!”

“Huh?!” Trucy stared at him in astonishment. “I didn’t even know there were more than three!”

Phoenix’s stomach gurgled, thankfully only loud enough for him to hear.

That did it. There was _no_ way he could disappoint Hershel now that he had got himself so excited about that many types of tea.

“Hey, what the heck?” he said with a shrug. “I’m feeling adventurous. Plus I want to try some more of those awesome English cakes you and Luke were talking up.”

“Yes! Cakes!” cried Trucy. “We _never_ get to have cake back at home!”

Hershel smiled and adjusted his hat.

“Then whatever you do,” he said, “please savour your order. You can only have your first slice of Battenberg cake once in your life.”

* * *

The café wasn’t large, but it was cosy and warm and sparsely populated enough that the three of them had no worries about where to sit. Hershel selected a table near the front of the shop, facing the window through which they could see the street outside, and he offered encouragement and suggestions to Phoenix and Trucy on the topic of what they could order to fill their grumbling stomachs.

The Professor suggested that to fully sate their appetites, they should sample some of the savoury dishes England had to offer before moving onto the sweet. Shepherd’s pie, stew and dumplings and steak and kidney pudding came highly recommended from the enthusiastic gentleman, and Phoenix couldn’t bring himself to turn down his offer, so they accepted an order of each with the promise that Trucy and her father would get to taste all three meals for themselves.

Phoenix was extremely glad they’d taken up that offer, because it turned out every single thing they ordered was delicious. Herby shepherd’s pie topped with fluffy mashed potatoes, hearty beef stew bathed in vegetables and flanked by soft dumplings, hot steak and kidney pudding drizzled in gravy… the only way it could have been better was if it had been a buffet, which would mean he could collect multiple servings of each dish for all three and bathe himself in all that meaty, savoury goodness.

What do you know? It turned out not every stereotype about the English was true. It was true that they were washing it down with tea, but their food, in fact, _did_ have flavour.

And then, once the main course had been polished off, there came the promised cakes…

The only thing about Battenberg cake that had Trucy more excited than its taste was its appearance. The pink and yellow squares were divided by tangy apricot jam that perfectly contrasted against the sweetness of the sponge and the smooth hint of almond flavour from the marzipan it was wrapped in.

While she had ordered that, Phoenix had taken Hershel’s recommendation and ordered a serving of sticky toffee pudding, while Hershel had selected a slice of treacle tart. Both came topped with generous dollops of clotted cream and Trucy insisted that before they all devoured their respective desserts, they should sample each other’s orders. That was how Phoenix had discovered how tasty Battenberg cake was, and how well the tooth-rotting sweetness of treacle tart was tempered by the flaky pastry and creamy… cream.

As for the sticky toffee pudding, Phoenix almost wished he didn’t have to share. It was sweet and smooth with just a hint of fruitiness, which Hershel happily explained was dates mixed into the batter. Phoenix didn’t really care _what_ it was; he just wanted to get as much of it as he could into his mouth as quickly as possible.

Were it not for Hershel’s warning about car sickness, he could have ordered at least five more serves of all of these cakes and devoured them by himself. Hershel joked that he looked like he was making up for Luke’s absence, which was enough to make Phoenix reconsider how much he was eating in just one afternoon.

As it was, he had to force himself to care. It had been a long time since he had been able to enjoy a meal so thoroughly.

After so long sacrificing meals so that Trucy would have more to eat…

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so _full._

And every time he brought up the topic of payment, Hershel assured him that money was no object. That Phoenix and Trucy were his friends and he was delighted to treat them to a meal at a café he loved. He smiled like mad every time either one of them showed some kind of appreciation for their food, and Phoenix felt warmed to the core at the sight of it.

It was thanks to Hershel that he had _never_ seen Trucy so satisfied and content. She patted on her stomach with a happy little blush and slumped in her chair once she had finished eating, head tipped back to smile at the ceiling. Hershel had to warn her not to fall asleep right there, as it wouldn’t be fair to her father for him to have to carry her out to the car and off to bed for two nights in a row.

The sun was well on its way to setting by the time they departed the café. It wasn’t even very late in the afternoon, but that was English winter for you. The sunlight was milky and golden, the shadows dark and cold and abnormally stretched, and the air itself somehow felt wet. Like just standing outside was enough to make their clothes damp, but to bundle up too much would make them overheated and sweaty, even as the parts of their skin that were exposed to the air were left cold and red raw. Hershel plunged his hands into his pockets, Trucy shivered under Mr Hat’s cloak and Phoenix would have given her his hoodie if she hadn’t insisted that he keep it.

Thank goodness it was only a short walk back to the car. Phoenix wasn’t sure if he’d be able to bear it if Hershel had parked further down the street.

He had expected Trucy to chatter happily about everything they had just eaten and how it compared to the food they usually had back in Los Angeles, but she had well and truly worn herself out with all that eating. He was surprised she didn’t fall asleep in the short space of time between them getting to the car and getting back out once Hershel had driven them back to his home, and if he wanted to be honest, he would have understood if she did. He had a feeling he was going to sleep pretty well tonight.

Trucy had regained some of her energy by the time they got into Hershel’s home, and once they had made themselves comfortable in his living room, she excitedly recounted everything Uncle Hershel had apparently told her while they were riding the London Eye. He apparently hadn’t been kidding about a whale swimming up the river: a juvenile northern bottlenose, he explained when Trucy asked, that seemed to have got itself terribly lost, but nobody was quite sure how it had wound up in the middle of London. Hershel himself suggested that it could have been a victim of navy sonar, although he admitted that it was a puzzle he feared he may never solve.

Phoenix admitted that he was relieved the poor creature hadn’t overturned any boats or accidentally drowned any of its attempted rescuers. With what animal rights activists were like these days, he had no doubt the poor creature would be brought to trial, meaning some poor bastard would be assigned to prove its innocence. The last thing he wanted was to wind up defending a goddamn _whale_ in a court of law.

In which case, Hershel joked, perhaps it would be a good idea to have Luke on staff.

Phoenix just sighed. Cross-examining two parrots and an owl was enough…

As the afternoon wore on into evening, it soon became clear that thanks to how big their late lunch had been, none of them were in the mood for dinner. Not when they’d had their fill of meat and vegetables and cake to the point of near food coma. Still, Hershel reasoned, it might be a good idea to have a snack. Something minor that would keep their fuel tanks full until bedtime arrived, and a cup of tea alone wouldn’t be enough to take care of that.

With that in mind, he ushered his two guests into the kitchen and Phoenix watched, partially curious and partially baffled, as he toasted two slices of bread, slathered each with something weird and sliced them half so that Phoenix and Trucy could both have a taste.

One of the toppings was a vibrant shade of orange and looked like it had chunks of some kind of fruit peel in it. Not only that, but it smelled like orange too. Marmalade, Hershel explained. Orange preserves.

The other topping was deep brown, almost black, and the smell was… indescribable. Phoenix’s mind flew all over the place in a search for what he’d call it. Salty? Rotten? Rotten, salty bread? Slightly… _buttery?_

Hershel told them it was Marmite, and Phoenix almost jumped back in horror.

He’d heard tales of Marmite, along with its Australian cousin Vegemite. He’d seen footage, thrust into his face by Maya, of people taking bites out of bread and toast slathered with one of those, and every single one of those videos showed them recoiling in shock and disgust.

That in mind, Phoenix decided he and Trucy should try the marmalade first.

Somehow it surprised him that it really did taste like oranges. Sweet, rather tart and tangy, almost bitter but rather pleasant. Trucy cringed at the taste, unsure what she could say about it, but Phoenix almost found himself enjoying this unusual flavour. It was like crunchy orange juice, although he didn’t tell Hershel that for fear of offending him. While Trucy only managed a couple of mouthfuls of her half, Phoenix managed to finish the whole thing.

And then they tried the Marmite.

Trucy nibbled on the corner of the toast, chewed it thoughtfully, and then took a large and hungry bite, smiling with her mouth full. Seeing her satisfaction gave Phoenix courage to try it for himself, so he took as large a bite as she did.

Less than a second later, he was running to the bin to spit it out.

Hershel sadly admitted that yes, Marmite was rather _divisive_ in the realm of sandwich spreads, to say the least. While Trucy eagerly finished her half of the toast, Phoenix apologised and told Hershel that there was no way he could eat the rest of his slice, and thank goodness Hershel understood his vehement dislike of it.

The three of them spent the rest of the evening deep in conversation. The topics ranged all over the place, starting with the Globe Theatre and Shakespeare and odd stories from the Bard’s life; how he had been paid to smear the names and personas of the sovereigns from prior to the Tudor dynasty, such as giving a hunched back, limp and withered arm to Richard III and accusing him of a murder that had happened when he was _three._ It was all information Phoenix already knew, of course, but Trucy’s reaction was far too wonderful for him to pass up.

From there, Hershel educated her on what Twelfth Night, the day the play they had seen was named after, actually was. It was the name given to January 6th, the twelfth night (natch) of the Christmas period (as in, the 12 Days of Christmas, Phoenix clarified for his daughter) and it was essentially a public holiday. It was no wonder that Sir Toby and Sir Andrew enjoyed their revelry so much, as the era the play was set in meant those in a lower class than nobility very rarely got a day off.

And all of a sudden, Trucy understood why they had been so mean to Malvolio. One of the servants’ only day off? Of course they would be upset by somebody crashing their party!

Still, she pointed out, tricking him into thinking Olivia had fallen in love with him – and telling him to do everything she hated in order to win her heart – was a bit of a step too far. Not only that, but seeing him imprisoned for madness was just ridiculous!

Phoenix struggled not to overwhelm her with comforting hugs. This kid was too sweet and precious for her own good.

They barely even noticed as the evening wore on, getting later and later, until all of a sudden it was almost 10pm and Trucy could barely keep her eyes open anymore. She managed to walk her own way up to her bedroom, but not without a great deal of yawning and her father to lean on for support.

Phoenix was eager to assure her that no matter what, she could _always_ lean on her dad.

He thought about telling Hershel about the strange cloaked man he had encountered while waiting for the pair of them to disembark the London Eye, but it didn’t take him long to decide against it. If this was someone he had history with, and if it was as bad a history as he suspected it could be, then it would be best to just let it slide and try to put it out of his mind.

Perhaps if the topic of the London Eye came up later on, they could talk about it.

Words from the stranger echoed in Phoenix’s mind:

_“I wonder if he still has it?”_

He’d said that while fiddling with that strange glowing crystal pendant.

Did that mean…

…maybe, but it wasn’t something Hershel had ever mentioned to him, and Phoenix didn’t want to annoy him by prying.

Yeah, best to drop it for now, Phoenix thought to himself as he made himself comfortable in his bed. He couldn’t bear to see Hershel upset. Couldn’t bear to even consider the possibility.

He rolled onto his side and tucked the bedsheets under his chin, snuggled down into his pillow, and blinked.

When he opened his eyes, the light in the room had changed.

The moon must have been in a different position. Time had passed. He’d fallen asleep, but only for an hour or two. He rolled over and checked the clock sitting beside his bed. One that turned out to have glow-in-the-dark numbers and hands.

It was 2:38am.

He sat up and rubbed his eyes, and waited for them to adjust to the darkness.

What could have woken him up?

He looked around the dark room. His luggage was tucked down beside the bed, its zipper wide open and exposing its contents to the open air, in spite of the wardrobe and chest of drawers that were positioned in the corner. A chair in another corner had spare blankets lying over its arms. All of this was just about visible by the oddly coloured light that poured in through the cracks between the drapes, a blend of golden streetlamps and blue-white moonlight.

The room was arranged in exactly the same way as it had been when he’d fallen asleep.

Yet in spite of that, Phoenix’s heart was pounding, and he clutched a hand to his chest in a futile effort to calm it.

A sense of creeping dread was edging into his mind.

Something was wrong. _Very_ wrong.

He eased his legs out and sat up, and stretched his back as he got to his feet. He knew his evil self-destructive mind wouldn’t allow him to rest again until he was satisfied that everything in the house was in order.

He walked over to the door as softly as he could, doing his best to minimise noise as he opened it, and tiptoed to the room he knew Trucy was using. He opened that even quieter and stepped inside, sliding his feet across the floor to make as little noise as possible as he approached the bed where she peacefully slept.

She was completely fine. Nestled down into her bed and slumbering without a care in the world.

Phoenix kissed her on her forehead.

“Sweet dreams, sweetie,” he muttered, and he left her to sleep by herself.

So if she was alright, then that only left…

He knew a gentleman probably shouldn’t enter another’s bedroom without invitation, but his heart wouldn’t calm until he knew that everything was alright. Surely Hershel would forgive him for intruding if Phoenix could explain this weird feeling he had, right?

He opened Hershel’s door and looked into his room.

He didn’t even need a second for the movement to catch his eye. Hershel was lying on his back in bed, one hand clutching his sheets to his chest and the other grasping at his mattress. His legs kicked back and forth, one still covered and the other exposed to the air.

Phoenix’s heart pounded even harder as he rushed over. Hershel’s teeth were bared and gritted and his breaths came in rapid hisses, sweat poured from his forehead and trickled down his cheeks and around his eyes, but those eyes were still firmly closed.

It didn’t take a master detective to figure out what was happening.

“Hershel!” Phoenix whispered hoarsely, and he shook the writhing man by the shoulder. “Hershel, wake up!”

Hershel didn’t respond. He just kept struggling, scratching and tearing at his bedsheets.

“HERSHEL!” Phoenix snapped.

That was it. Hershel’s eyes flew wide open and he stared at the ceiling, chest heaving as he panted for breath and blinked the sweat away.

When his darting eyes fell upon Phoenix, he licked his lips and swallowed.

“Ph-Phoenix…” he gasped. “I… I’m sorry…”

He pressed against his mattress and tried to sit up.

“I’m sorry,” he said again. “Did I wake you?”

“No, I just woke up by myself,” Phoenix told him. “But I felt like something was wrong, and it looks like I was right about that. Are you okay?”

Hershel wiped away the hair that had been slicked to his face by sweat.

“I’m fine,” he replied. “I-I’m alright, I swear. It was only a dream.”

He blew out a long, exhausted sigh and buried his face in his hands.

“…it was only a dream…”

Phoenix frowned.

Before Hershel had any chance to stop him, he rubbed the smaller man’s shoulders.

“Nice try,” he said, “but you are _not_ alright. I don’t know what you were dreaming about and I don’t want you to tell me if it’ll upset you, but you don’t have to lie to me about it, okay?”

Hershel lowered one hand from his face and wiped his eyes with the other. He may have tried his best, but he wasn’t any good at hiding how terrible he felt.

But to Phoenix’s relief, he nodded.

“It was…” he said softly. “…unpleasant…”

He took a deep breath.

“I think that’s all I’m comfortable enough to admit,” he told Phoenix. “Unpleasant and…”

He clutched his arms to his chest.

“…and _painful…_ ”

Phoenix’s heart crumbled at the sight of him. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d seen Hershel so utterly broken. Not even that painful night in Fatargan could compare to _this._

“You want to get a drink of water or something?” he offered.

Hershel wordlessly shook his head.

It was hard to resist the urge to give him a hug, but Phoenix didn’t want to risk crowding him and making him worse.

“You sure?” he asked.

Hershel nodded.

“Yes,” he said weakly. “I’m alright, Phoenix. I’ll be alright.”

He sighed and rubbed his face again.

“I’ll be alright.”

Phoenix gave him a pat on his shoulder.

“If you’re sure,” he said, “then okay.”

He straightened up and turned to leave.

But he couldn’t take even one step before he felt something snag on the bottom of his shirt.

He looked around and saw that it was Hershel, holding him back, keeping him from leaving.

“…could you please stay with me?” Hershel whispered. “Only until I fall asleep.”

He sounded so weak and helpless. So… so unlike himself.

How could Phoenix turn him down when he was in such a state?

“Okay,” he said, and he gave his friend a gentle smile. “Don’t worry. I’m not going anywhere.”

He sat on the floor beside the bed as Hershel settled back down in his bed, hugging a corner of his quilt to his chest, his hand laid in front of him as if reaching out towards Phoenix.

He couldn’t let the poor guy feel alone, could he?

Phoenix reached back and rested his hand on Hershel’s.

And when he did, Hershel curled his fingers around Phoenix’s, holding him tight, silently begging him not to leave him alone again.

Poor bastard. What the hell had he been dreaming about?

Phoenix sat in silence, holding Hershel’s hand, and staring ahead into the darkness. It seemed like Hershel’s drapes might have been thicker than the ones in the spare room, as the details of this one were almost totally imperceptible, but Phoenix still got a sense that this room was cosy.

Part of him didn’t want to leave, especially if it meant Hershel would be suffering on his own.

How long had this been going on? How many nights had this poor guy spent wrestling with his bed sheets and sweating in terror? Had he ever woken up screaming?

It seemed that the suffering of Professor Layton ran far deeper than any of those not close to him would know, Phoenix considered.

But even as he thought that, he realised the grip on his hand had loosened. Hershel’s breathing had slowed and quietened, his eyes were closed, and he was comfortably nestled into his pillows just as Trucy had been.

Thank goodness.

Phoenix got to his feet as quietly as he could and eased his fingers out of Hershel’s. In spite of the dim light, he could just about make out the Professor’s motionless face, and his small form outlined by the quilt that covered him.

Well, almost covered him.

Without even taking a moment to think about it, Phoenix pulled the bedsheets over the upper half of Hershel’s body, making sure his arms weren’t exposed in a way that would make him cold.

What a contrast to when he had woken up. He looked so _peaceful._

And now that he was safely asleep again, Phoenix found his way through the darkness to his own bedroom, tucked himself back in and curled up under the covers to try to get a few more hours of rest.


	3. Chapter 3

Hershel didn’t know what had woken him up.

His bed was warm and cosy. If he weren’t a fully grown and mature man, he would have been tempted to spend the entire morning there, nestled into the soft sheets and the protection of his thick winter quilt.

Perhaps he could even light a fire in his grate. Warm his room and fill it with the scent of ash that somehow always reminded him of birthday candles. Oh, what a wonderful, relaxing day that would be…

But the sunlight cutting through his curtains was bright enough to pierce through his eyelids, even if he tried to keep his eyes closed, so he couldn’t have gone back to sleep even if he’d tried.

He took a deep breath and sat up, and rolled an aching shoulder. It seemed like he’d slept in a strange position last night.

And then he realised what had roused him from his slumber.

In spite of his closed door, he could smell the distinct scent of cooking. More specifically, the scent of frying. Frying _eggs_ and… and something else. He couldn’t quite identify it, but it was earthy.

What was going on?

He rubbed his eye as he climbed out of bed, flicked away the dust he’d wiped off, and slid his feet into his slippers. The air in his room carried the wet chill of winter, so he pulled his dressing gown from the hook on the back of his bedroom door and quickly donned it, and slipped his hat onto his head as a finishing touch.

The smells got stronger as he opened the door, and as he descended the stairs, he noticed the faint and unmistakable sound of oil fizzling in a frying pan.

His stomach grumbled, reminding him how long it had been since he’d last eaten.

Whatever was going on, it sounded and smelled like breakfast, and he was in no mood to refuse it. He reached the bottom of the stairs and, struggling to hold back a yawn, he tried not to walk too heavily as he approached the kitchen.

His questions were answered when he entered the room. It took him a moment to recognise Phoenix without his garish hat, but his messy black hair and the blue hoodie he’d thrown on over the top of his pyjamas were unmistakable. Hershel watched him pick up a pot of something brownish-grey and pour it into the frying pan he was standing in front of, and that was when he noticed that he wasn’t alone in the room anymore.

“Morning, Hershel,” he said cheerfully. “You okay?”

Hershel wasn’t sure what to respond with.

Somehow, even though he’d known that Phoenix was the only other adult in the house, he hadn’t expected to wake up to anything like _this._ His movements were slow and hesitant as he stepped into the kitchen, trying his hardest not to stare at the upbeat man at the stove.

“I hope you don’t mind me using your kitchen,” Phoenix said before Hershel could ask for an explanation. “I figured you didn’t have a great night’s sleep, so I’d make you some breakfast to cheer you up. Do you like mushrooms?”

Hershel blinked in surprise.

A memory of last night suddenly flashed into his mind. He’d forgotten until then how he’d woken up in the early hours, roused from… something _awful_ that he hadn’t been able to escape from until Phoenix had come into the room, and then this kind man had stayed by his side until he had fallen back to sleep.

And now he was cooking _breakfast._

What had Hershel done to deserve such a sweet person in his life?

“…yes, I…” He struggled to keep his demeanour intact. “I certainly don’t mind them-”

“Good, ‘coz it’s a mushroom omelette,” Phoenix told him. “A good big one too. I hope you’re hungry. Would’ve got the kettle for boiling for tea if I knew how to use it.”

Hershel’s eyes fell upon the empty, motionless kettle. His still-groggy mind needed a moment to process what Phoenix had been talking about.

“Not to worry,” he said, “I can take care of that.”

He picked up the kettle and took it to the sink to fill.

“I don’t mind you using my kitchen,” he told Phoenix as he carefully watched the measuring gauge on the jug’s side. “I only wish you could have asked me first.”

He set it on its stand to boil.

“You don’t have to do that for me, Phoenix,” he pointed out. “I’m perfectly capable of feeding myself.”

“Yeah, I know,” Phoenix said, keeping his eyes on the stove as Hershel sat down at the table, “but I wanted to cook for you! Just _something_ that can go some way to paying you back for how kind you’ve been to me ever since we ran into each other on that train.”

He snatched a spatula from the stand near the sink.

“God knows you’ve earned it by now,” he added, glancing back over his shoulder.

Hershel allowed himself a small, bashful smile.

It didn’t seem necessary, was perhaps a little selfish, but something about knowing that his efforts to be a gentleman had value was satisfying. Heartwarming, even.

Especially when that appreciation had come from somebody like Phoenix.

“You got any yeast?” the man in question asked as he folded the omelette in half.

Hershel looked up, hoping for an explanation.

“For some reason, I really want to bake some bread,” Phoenix told him. “I’ve been forced to be a pretty decent cook in general thanks to taking Trucy in, but bread’s what I’m best at because of Labyrinthia.”

The Professor took a moment to think, forming a mental catalogue of the contents of his kitchen. He had flour, cooking utensils and measuring equipment, including a scale pan… he knew he had a loaf pan somewhere, but he usually used it for roasts these days.

“No, I’m afraid I don’t have yeast,” he remembered, and he got up to arrange the crockery for tea, “but I was planning to pop in at the Tesco not far from here to pick up a few necessities, as well as supplies for something special I’ve been meaning to cook for dinner ever since I got back to London.”

“Wow, something more elaborate than toast with Marmite or marmalade?” Phoenix asked with a smile. “Colour me interested.”

Before Hershel could respond, attention was drawn to the entryway by an adorable little yawn.

“Morning, guys,” Trucy said sleepily as she plodded into the room.

“Trucy!” Phoenix said cheerfully. “Good morning, sweetie. Sleep well?”

“Mm-hm.” Trucy rubbed one eye as she looked up at her dad. “Are you cooking eggs?”

“Your father is cooking me a mushroom omelette,” Hershel told her as he set out the crockery for tea. “Would you like to share it?”

Trucy’s still-tired face scrunched up in disgust.

“No thank you,” she replied. “I don’t like mushrooms.”

“Oh dear.” Hershel turned to the cook, fresh-boiled kettle in hand. “Phoenix-”

“That’s fine by me.” Phoenix opened the oven and pulled out a plateful of eggs, which Hershel saw out of the corner of his eye as he filled the teapot. “I made a mushroom-free one, just for you.”

Trucy gasped in delight.

Hershel, meanwhile, opened his cutlery drawer.

“Sounds like I’ll be adding eggs to my shopping list,” he mumbled to himself as he pulled out knives and forks.

“Thank you, Daddy!” Trucy chirped.

She accepted the omelette and pranced over to the table. As she did so, Hershel closed the teapot and set it with cups and cutlery for the three of them on a tray, while Phoenix moved the finished mushroom omelette to a plate.

“Here you go!” Hershel saw him presenting the plate in the corner of his vision. “Bon Appetit.”

Having picked up the plate, Hershel turned to see the breakfast that had been prepared for him. The omelette was shiny with oil and condensation, inviting shades of yellow coiling steam towards the ceiling, and it-

-it took up around two thirds of its plate.

“Goodness, Phoenix!” Hershel gasped. “Let nobody say you aren’t generous!”

Phoenix gave him a nervous laugh.

“Sorry,” he said. “Is it too big?”

“It’s got to be!” Trucy spoke up from the table. “You can never eat enough of Daddy’s cooking!”

“No, no, it’s perfectly alright!” Hershel assured his friend. “I must say that I’m rather hungry. Thank you, Phoenix. It’s truly kind of you.”

He set the tray down on the table, and Trucy excitedly snatched up a knife and fork to dig into her omelette while Phoenix set the plate down in front of Hershel.

But as they all sat down, Hershel noticed something that he couldn’t help thinking was rather odd.

One… _two_ omelettes.

One, two… _three_ people in the kitchen.

“Phoenix, you…” He examined the empty space in front of Phoenix. “Aren’t you going to eat anything?”

“Hmm? Oh!” Phoenix’s eyes widened in surprise. “Uh, no. I’m not hungry.”

Perhaps he was going to say more, but a loud gurgle from his stomach cut him off. He clutched his hand to it and frowned, but there was nothing he could do to take such an obvious noise back.

“Don’t listen to that,” he said, likely quicker than he had intended.

He glanced across the table at his daughter, who was happily munching on her breakfast and humming in satisfaction.

So much love in those blue and brown eyes…

Hershel suddenly couldn’t help but wonder.

How many times had Phoenix done this? How many times had he given up on eating so that Trucy could be full and happy?

Whatever the case, he could _not_ let this stand.

He looked down at his gigantic mushroom omelette and picked up a knife and fork.

“Well, I couldn’t possibly eat all of this by myself,” he said.

He carefully cut the semicircle of thick, pillowy curds down the centre, not giving one moment of attention to Phoenix’s glare of objection.

“Please, Phoenix,” he said before his companion could get a word in. “After all of the work you put into this omelette, don’t you want to know for sure if your efforts were successful?”

“No, I-”

“I insist, my friend.” Hershel used his knife to press one half of the omelette in his direction, taking care not to spill too many mushroom fragments onto the plate. “Please don’t let yourself go hungry on my account.”

Phoenix glanced between Hershel’s face and the plate.

It thankfully didn’t take much time for him to realise that Hershel was _not_ going to take no for an answer, and with a small “okay” he got up and found a third plate.

Once it was in position, Hershel smiled as he slid one half of the omelette onto Phoenix’s plate, and when he was sure the man was going to be fed, he cut a small piece out of his half’s corner and popped it into his mouth.

It took him a moment to remember he was supposed to be chewing.

The egg was soft, chewy but not tough, and practically melted on his tongue. The mushrooms were satisfyingly toothsome and smooth in their flavour, and he almost wished he didn’t have to swallow his mouthful.

When he did gulp it down, he looked down at his plate in admiration.

“Wow.”

Trucy giggled by his side.

“Is that a good ‘wow’ or…” Phoenix eyed him in hopeful curiosity.

“It’s a ‘wow, this is delicious’, Phoenix!” Hershel responded. “Neither you nor Trucy were exaggerating about your kitchen skills!” He immediately set about cutting himself another bite. “I’ve half a mind to ask you to assist me later. Such obvious talent could prove immensely helpful!”

Phoenix couldn’t hide his smile, or the cute little blush that spread across his cheeks.

“Thanks,” he said meekly, and he cut himself a bite of his half of the omelette.

And when he put it in his mouth, Hershel got the distinct feeling that they shared exactly the same first-taste-on-a-winter-morning experience.

Right down to staring in amazement at the plate once he’d smiled.

“…okay, yeah,” Phoenix said, “I did a good job on this.”

Hershel gave him a grateful smile. The more this man understood how talented he was, the better.

“I’m glad _you_ guys like mushrooms,” said Trucy. “I just really _don’t._ ”

“Whyever not?” Hershel asked, and he started pouring tea for the three of them.

“They feel really weird on my teeth!” Trucy cried. “They’re all chewy and slippery and it’s so gross having to squish them in my mouth!”

“What if I cut or crushed ‘em up real small so you didn’t have to chew them?” Phoenix suggested. “Do you think you could stomach them if I did that?”

Trucy chewed pensively on her breakfast, humming in thought.

“Maybe,” she said once she’d swallowed. “I’ve seen a whole bunch of grown-ups saying mushrooms are tasty, so there’s got to be _something_ to them!”

“Then next time I cook us something with mushrooms,” said Phoenix, “I’ll mince ‘em up as small as I can.” He reached out and ruffled her hair. “Just for you, sweetie.”

His daughter giggled and shied away from his hand.

“Thanks, Daddy!” she said happily.

Hershel smiled again as he finished pouring the tea.

“I wouldn’t want you to starve yourselves with what I have planned for today,” he told his guests. “I can’t say it would be the most strenuous activity, but I’d feel more comfortable knowing the two of you have as much energy as you possibly can.”

He gave them both a sly look, or at least the closest approximation he could manage.

“It’s not often you get to visit a millennium-year-old castle, after all.”

Trucy gasped in amazed delight.

Phoenix, meanwhile, continued happily eating the omelette he’d cooked.

* * *

Trucy giggled again as Hershel took her by the sides and lifted her onto his shoulders, and Phoenix held his hat out of the way so that she wouldn’t kick it by accident.

“Oh my gosh!” she whispered. “The stories I heard about the hats! They’re true!”

Hershel nodded in confirmation.

Phoenix leaned over the temporary audience barrier and looked around the area, his range of view not as wide as Trucy’s thanks to her perch. He hadn’t expected entire roads to be closed off for this occasion, but when he took into consideration that this was the monarch’s personal soldiers they were talking about, he had to admit it made a lot of sense.

He could see a police officer, one wearing a vivid day-glow vest, freewheeling on a bicycle around the empty road, and Phoenix saw him notice something in the crowd. He watched the officer take a moment out of rolling around the barred-off road, presumably making sure nobody tried to interfere with the approaching soldiers, and he weaved in and out of a number of the bollards that were set up on the street. It was faint, but Phoenix heard a youthful coo of appreciation soon afterwards.

He smiled at the sound. It seemed like even in such an important occasion, members of law enforcement weren’t afraid to take a moment for a little entertainment. He could only hope that the officer didn’t get in trouble for that little display.

But he didn’t have much time to mull on that possibility, as the bombastic music from down the street was getting louder, and he leaned over the barrier to get a better look.

The approaching platoon was a thick line of black and red, led down the middle of the road by another police officer on horseback. Phoenix could see that a number up front were drumming, dictating the speed of the march, and they were backed up by horn and pipe players that followed close behind. He didn’t recognise the tune, but it made him smile all the same, and there was something oddly satisfying about how perfectly timed each of the guard’s footsteps was. Talk about discipline!

He leaned back, suddenly aware that he could be blocking somebody else’s view, and noticed that the audience surrounding him were all nearly completely silent. Nobody was speaking to one another – nothing above a whisper, at least – and he suddenly thought back to his first morning in Fatargan. The throng he had watched pouring out of the King’s Arms, moving as one through the village in the direction of Dr Wallace’s clinic to make an outrageous accusation…

…but this crowd didn’t give him that same unsettling feeling, and it wasn’t too hard to figure out why. This wasn’t a silence of suspicion, plotting and simmering anger. It was a silence of reverence. Nobody dared to speak too loud for fear of disturbing such an impressive and important ceremony, and considering that many of these people were most likely tourists braving the winter cold, Phoenix couldn’t help being impressed at how respectful many of them could be.

Not that there was anything inherently disrespectful about tourists, but with how many of them were probably American…

The guards were fully in view by now. First came the band, followed by a single marching soldier, spacing out that block of men from the group that followed, their footsteps still immaculately timed with the music from in front of them. The way they all swung their legs in perfect sync was almost hypnotic.

“Trucy,” Phoenix heard Hershel whisper behind him, “did you know that one of these guards is, in fact, the Queen’s own grandson?”

“Oh my gosh, really?” Trucy hissed back. “Which one?”

“I’m not going to tell you,” Hershel replied, and Phoenix could hear the smile in his voice.

“What?!” Trucy gasped.

“This is a puzzle, young lady,” Hershel said. “Puzzles are more satisfying when you solve them yourself, wouldn’t you agree?”

With that in mind, Phoenix paid close attention to the guards as they approached. He scanned across their faces, keeping his eye out for anything that could indicate one of them being different from the comrades that surrounded him…

…and then he noticed it, and folded his arms in satisfaction.

“I know who it is,” he declared.

“You do?!” Trucy squeaked.

“Goodness, that was fast,” Hershel commented. “Are you sure you have the correct answer?”

“Yeah,” Phoenix said happily. “I’m pretty confident about it.”

“Daddy, which one is it?” Trucy whispered hoarsely as the band finally started passing by them. “Which one’s the… Uncle Hershel, he’s a prince, right?”

“Naturally,” said Hershel.

“Daddy, which one’s the prince?” Trucy asked.

“It isn’t too hard to work out, sweetie,” Phoenix told her. “You’ll get there.”

He glanced up at her and saw her leaning over Hershel’s head, tapping on her chin and humming in thought as she scrutinised the passing guards. Her determination was nothing short of adorable, and Phoenix resisted the urge to snatch her down from his friend’s shoulders and give her a cuddle.

And then, in spite of her gloves, she snapped her fingers.

“I got it!” she proclaimed.

“You think so?” Phoenix asked.

“I know so!” Trucy said happily.

“Then let’s see, once this is finished,” said Hershel, “if either of you have found the correct answer.”

Phoenix kept up his smug, satisfied smile as the platoon marched past, the sound of their music growing quieter as they rounded the corner, and their tall, fluffy hats disappeared behind a tall stone pillar and entered the grounds of Buckingham Palace.

But before he had any chance to miss them, a second band – literally – of soldiers began to emerge from a different gate on the other side of the part of the audience that Hershel had selected for them. They played a different tune to that their predecessors had performed; it had a slower tempo, lighter drumming, and the guards marched more slowly as a result. But in spite of their slower pace, they still moved in perfect sync, and Phoenix wondered if they could even be enjoying themselves as they made their way out onto the street.

He noticed that the chatter in the audience had begun to pick up again. No doubt that since the new guards had taken up their position and the previous group were moving out, they didn’t feel as much need for their reverent silence. Phoenix couldn’t help pondering what this group was going to do once they reached their destination. Did they have a barracks where they could kick back and relax from a long cold morning’s march? Would they conduct drills for the rest of the day or would they head to a mess hall for lunch?

And that was if they even had any of that stuff. These were royal guards, after all. Not your usual run-of-the-mill soldiers. For all he knew, they were going to have to stand outside a _different_ castle for the rest of the day.

God, with how cold this winter was, Phoenix couldn’t imagine how unbearable that would be. From what he could see of the passing guards, they apparently weren’t allowed to wear scarves or earmuffs or comfy coats with their uniforms. Were their fluffy hats enough to keep them from getting frostbite? Those poor bastards!

His thoughts were interrupted by the nearby marching band changing its music. The new tune was another unidentifiable one, but faster and more upbeat, and the guards quickened their pace as a result.

They marched away, their music fading into the distance, led and backed up by another police officer on horseback. Phoenix noticed the cycling officer off to one side; he was now entertaining the kids in the crowd with a very impressive wheelie. Hopefully he’d get a bonus for his little performance rather than a write-up.

The next time Phoenix looked, the guards’ retreating forms were nothing more than an indistinct black and red smudge, and the watchers around them were beginning to slowly peel away from their positions by the side of the road.

“Is it over?” Phoenix asked just to check.

“I believe the main proceedings have yet to finish,” Hershel told him. “From here, the Old Guard will move on to Wellington Barracks and the members of the New Guard will either make for St James’ Palace or head for Buckingham Palace’s Guard Room for briefing.”

The way he spoke was enough to convey all the necessary capital letters to Phoenix, who nodded in understanding.

“I’m guessing this isn’t your first time watching the ceremony?” he asked.

Hershel gave him a smile.

“This has been the site for a date in the past,” he admitted, “once upon a time, so very long ago.”

“So then…” Phoenix gave him a smile too. “…this is where you like to bring a date?”

Hershel averted his eyes, a faint blush blossoming across cheeks, but he hadn’t stopped smiling.

“I suppose you could interpret it that way,” he replied.

Trucy slapped a hand over her mouth, but she couldn’t do much to stifle her laughter.

The watchers around them continued to slowly trickle away, one or two of them taking their new opportunity to freely discuss the display they had borne witness to. Hershel set a hand on Phoenix’s arm, gently holding him in place, until their path was clear enough that they were free to walk away. Hershel didn’t seem to mind that he was still carrying Trucy on his shoulders.

“That was a lot more impressive than I’d expected,” Phoenix commented, adjusting his grip on Hershel’s hat. “You English sure know how to make things dramatic.”

Hershel laughed at his remark.

“I shall take that as a compliment,” he responded, and then he eyed Phoenix with another wry smirk. “So tell me; which of the guards was the Queen’s grandson?”

“The one with the beard!” Phoenix and Trucy spoke as one.

“In the whole platoon heading into the palace, there was only one member who had facial hair,” Phoenix explained. “It’s obvious that being clean-shaven is some kind of dress code requirement, but that one guy had a beard.”

“But even with a royal dress code, a beard isn’t very much, is it?” asked Trucy. “So someone was important as a prince could totally get permission to skip shaving!”

Their host continued smiling as they walked.

“I’m very impressed,” he told them. “Thanks to my knowledge of the royal family, I can confirm that both of you found the correct answer. Excellent work, both of you.”

“Yes!” Phoenix pumped a fist in triumph.

“Nailed it!” cheered Trucy.

They shared a high-five over Hershel’s head, and Hershel laughed again at their camaraderie.

“I’ll admit I do find it a little unfair that such an exception would be made,” he remarked, “but as you both said, it’s quite a minor rule to waive, and would you really refuse to allow a member of the royal family to do as they pleased?”

“Nuh-uh.” Trucy shook her head.

“Not if I didn’t want to get guillotined or whatever,” said Phoenix.

Hershel’s laugh was soft as he reached up and lifted Trucy from his shoulders.

“Now then,” he said as he set her on the pavement, “as I believe I said, we need to make a stop for groceries before we move on to our next location, but I’m positive that you’re going to enjoy it.”

“Oooh!” Trucy bounced on her toes. “Daddy, we’re going to an English supermarket!”

“Take it easy, sweetie,” Phoenix chuckled. “It probably won’t be much different from the stores back at home.”

“But it’ll be full of English stuff!” Trucy pointed out. “English cheeses, English cookies, English soda-” She gasped in delight. “Uncle Hershel, let’s get Jaffa Cakes!”

“Jaffa Cakes?”

Hershel took his hat back from Phoenix and swept it onto his head, looking down at Trucy as mysteriously as he could.

“With what I have planned for dinner,” he said, “you won’t _need_ Jaffa Cakes.”

Phoenix snort-laughed so hard it was almost painful, and he patted this ridiculous, adorable nerd on the back.

* * *

Phoenix didn’t quite see what Trucy had been so excited about. As far as supermarkets went, Tesco really didn’t seem like anything that special. The most interesting thing about it was Hershel’s reason for going there instead of another supermarket nearby: he’d worked at Sainsbury's to pay his rent during his university studies and had been thoroughly disillusioned to the whole operation.

Hard to blame him, if Phoenix was being honest. With everything he’d heard about working in retail, he was impressed the Professor had emerged from that ordeal with his sanity intact.

As the tallest member of the group, Phoenix found himself relegated to shelf-reaching duty, with Hershel insisting that as their host, _he_ took the duty of pushing the shopping cart (or “trolly” as he called it). Phoenix put all of his experience in arranging evidence to work in filling the cart with everything Hershel told him to retrieve: eggs, dried yeast, a log-like joint of beef, sliced prosciutto, a small pot of mustard, a bag of mushrooms (much – or _mush_ – to Trucy’s chagrin), a packet of puff pastry and, for whatever reason, a rather large quantity of onions.

When Phoenix asked what they were for and what the plan was for dinner that night, Hershel just gave him another enigmatic smile.

Man, he was _revelling_ in being the one to set up a mystery rather than the one to solve it. Even though it wasn’t anything more major than how he was going to feed his guests!

What a _dork._

Once everything was paid for, it got bundled into the “boot” of the Laytonmobile and Hershel drove them back to his house, assuring them that they wouldn’t be held up as the roads closed by the changing of the guard would have been reopened by now. The three of them banded together to carry the groceries into the house, with Hershel calmly dictating what would be stored where, and before they could even sit down for a cup of tea, he whisked them out of the house again to go on another London-bound adventure.

This time, however, he refused to give even a hint of where he was taking his companions, although he did provide a faint smile when Phoenix asked if it was the “millennium-year-old castle” he had mentioned earlier that day.

And sure enough, they pulled up outside a tall, looming, grey stone structure that chilled Phoenix to the bone just by looking at it.

He didn’t need an introduction. He already knew what it was.

“Whoa, it’s HUGE!” Trucy shouted as she jumped out of the car.

“The Tower of London is a thousand years old?!” Phoenix almost shouted too in disbelief.

Hershel adjusted his hat as he closed his car door.

“The structure was commissioned in the year 1066 by William the Conqueror,” he explained, “and the White Tower, its oldest and most recognisable feature, was constructed in 1078 as a demonstration of power by our Norman invaders.”

He cast a smirk in Phoenix’s direction.

“I can’t say it’s a thousand years old exactly,” he added, “but should it stand for only a few decades more, it will be.”

“Oh my gosh, that’s _so cool!_ ” Trucy bounded up to Phoenix and seized his hand. “Can we go in? Please say we can go in!”

“Of course we can,” Hershel replied. “I wouldn’t have brought you here if we couldn’t.”

“Daddy! Dad, let’s go!” Trucy jumped up and down in glee. “Let’s go see inside, let’s go, let’s go, let’s GO!”

* * *

Hershel didn’t bother to mention that in spite of spending around half of his life in London, this was his first time visiting the Tower. With how much they already respected him, Phoenix and Trucy didn’t need to know. They were surprised that the building didn’t have any proper guided tour system, but that just meant Hershel was free to take the lead and discover all the sights for himself along with them.

He ran his hand along the cold stone as they walked through the corridors, his fingertips growing moist from the condensation that gathered on the brickwork. He could have sworn he could feel the history pouring out of the walls just by touching them, and he wondered what stories these walls would tell if they could talk.

How many kings and queens, princes and princesses, lords and ladies of all varieties had passed through these halls over the years? How many had walked this path, but never made a return journey? And how many less so-called important people had led those not to return to whatever grisly fate awaited them?

He did his best to suppress those morbid thoughts as they continued to explore the Tower, and he warned Trucy not to stray too far away from them in case she got lost and wound up becoming a part of history.

Thank goodness he’d thought to pick up a map on their way in. Phoenix was amazed at how many individual “towers” there really were at the “Tower of London” and worried that they wouldn’t be able to visit every single one, but Hershel assured them that they could see plenty so long as they took their time and moved at a reasonable pace.

And thank goodness for the signs that guided their way to the Crown Jewels. It would’ve been a nightmare to try to find their way there with only the map of the whole structure that Hershel had picked up.

Once they got there, Trucy hopped from foot to foot and grinned like a fool at the sight of the glittering jewellery. Hershel could hardly blame her for her excitement: so much velvet, so many gemstones, so much ornate gold ornamentation that it was difficult to tear their eyes away. He had to warn Phoenix not to walk around with his hands in his pocket or else he’d make himself look suspicious, and the last thing they wanted was for him to be accused of planning to steal the Jewels for whatever reason. The crowns, the sceptres, the globe and bracelets and necklace and _sword…_ it was almost too much to behold.

Trucy herself was quite surprised to see that the velvet in the crowns was purple, rather than the red she’d seen on TV and in movies, and Phoenix suggested that the change was because of copyright “or something, I can’t really say for sure”.

But as they continued exploring, Hershel noticed that Phoenix was behaving quite oddly. At multiple points during their tour, he caught the man standing and staring at empty space, his eyes fixed on what seemed to be nothing in particular. Since he couldn’t tell what his friend was looking at, Hershel would tug on his sleeve or nudge him in the arm to remind him that they were moving on, and Phoenix always seemed startled by the reminder that somebody else was standing nearby and wanted him to remember where he was.

Upon being brought back to reality, Phoenix always acted as though everything was perfectly alright, but his performance wasn’t exactly award worthy.

So Hershel kept him moving, kept Trucy in his sights, kept his spirits up any way he could. They found their way to where the ravens were kept, and the Professor chatted for a moment with the Beefeater who was watching over them. Phoenix mentioned that Luke should have been there with them, as who knew what the ravens could have told them about the Tower, but he was happy enough to tickle the birds under their chins and scratch them on the back of their neck. One of the ravens puffed up its feathers on the back of its neck, as though saying “scratch me here!” and eagerly leaned into Hershel’s finger when he followed that unspoken command.

Phoenix told him that of any one of them, the one who most looked like he _should_ be petting a raven was Hershel.

It was a good look for him.

Hershel could only pray that his face wasn’t too red, and that none of these birds tried to walk on his injured arm.

From there, they continued exploring the Tower. Trucy was oddly fascinated by the replica scaffolding that had been built on the old execution site, asking if it was possible to take a picture looking like she was being led to her death, but Hershel had to tell her that her father could _not_ allow her to indulge in something so morbid.

Phoenix had been distracted again.

This time, when Hershel had caught his attention, his face was a deathly shade of white.

But he didn’t ask about it. Not right now. They could talk about it once Phoenix felt ready.

When they passed through the gift shop on the way out, Phoenix happily voiced a desire to buy something to commemorate their visit. A keyring, perhaps, or a snow globe that would look nice on his desk at work, or even just a pencil topper or postcard. However, all it took was a quick glance at the price tags that lined the shelves for all three of them to vehemently decide they were _not_ going to make any purchases from this place. Not when to do so would leave their wallets so empty.

And once they had come to that decision, they stepped out into the cool late-afternoon air and milky golden sunlight.

“That was amazing!” Trucy spun around in a circle as she pranced in front of her father. “And we didn’t even get to see the whole place!”

Phoenix chuckled at the sight of her excitement.

“Did you have a favourite part?” he asked.

“The ravens!” Trucy responded. “The ravens were awesome! They were so much bigger than I thought they’d be and I don’t know why people think ravens are evil when they’re so cute and so pretty! Oh, and the Crown Jewels too! They were so much bigger and there were so much more of them than I’d expected and-”

She stopped mid-sentence and looked up at them.

“Is it bad that I really wanted to try them on?” she asked.

“Not at all,” Hershel told her with an adjustment of his hat. “As a fancier of headwear, I rather wondered how I might look in a crown. Not only that, but part of me wanted to complete the look by holding the globe and sceptre. Embarrassing, I know.”

“Nothing embarrassing about it,” Phoenix said with a smile. “I bet you’d look pretty handsome as a king.”

Again, Hershel hoped his face didn’t redden too much.

“Thank you,” he said quietly.

“I just wish the gift shop stuff wasn’t so expensive,” Trucy complained. “Hey, Uncle Hershel? Why is gift shop stuff always so expensive?”

“My assumption is that the funds gathered from the sales of souvenirs go toward the upkeep of the structure,” Hershel replied. “Your £5 keyring could potentially pay for enough oil to grease the Traitor’s Gate for a whole week.”

“And it’d prove to my friends at school that I totally went to the Tower of London!” Trucy added. “I just wish that scaffolding thing had a fake chopping block I could pose with!”

“Please don’t,” sighed Phoenix. “You’d give me a heart attack.”

“But without an executioner present, would that really be an issue?” Hershel pointed out.

Phoenix shot him an angry glare.

“Hershel,” he said, “I will not _ever_ be comfortable with the idea of my daughter being executed.”

So serious all of a sudden… Hershel just gave him a nod of agreement to avoid pushing his anger any further.

“So I should never make _myself_ the girl getting cut in half,” Trucy decided. “Got it!”

She bounced like a football with every step as they headed back to the Laytonmobile, and upon Hershel opening the door for her, she bounded into the backseat like her shoes were soled with springs.

By the time everybody was buckled in and they had set off down the road, she had leaned back against the back of her seat and already nodded off.

The fluctuating energy of children would never cease to leave Hershel amazed.

It was like driving with Luke all over again.

But quieter. Far quieter. Almost silent save for Trucy’s occasional sighs and the gentle hum of the car’s engine.

While looking both ways at an intersection, Hershel took the chance to check on Phoenix. He was leaning against his door, resting his cheek on his hand and staring out the window, obviously deep in thought.

He still looked as worryingly pale as he had when he had started staring into space at the Tower.

Hershel didn’t need long to make up his mind about what to do.

“Phoenix?”

“Hm?”

He gave his friend a moment to process the beginning of the conversation.

“You’re rather quiet over there,” Hershel pointed out. “Penny for your thoughts?”

Phoenix blinked impassively at the passing city streets.

“What could I be thinking about?” he asked, his voice flat and unemotive.

Hershel frowned. He didn’t like the sound of that.

“You seemed rather distracted during the tour,” he told Phoenix. “May I know what was bothering you?”

Phoenix’s eyes slid closed.

He took a deep breath.

“There were people there,” he said. “People nobody else could see.”

Their experiences from days not long past were enough to let Hershel know what he was talking about.

“People long since passed on?” he asked.

Phoenix seemed too exhausted, or perhaps too upset, to fully open his eyes.

“Either that or they were dressed in period costumes,” he replied, “but I don’t think even the most dedicated LARPer would go so far as to let themselves get beheaded just to haunt a thousand-year-old castle.”

Hershel nodded solemnly.

“I’ve heard it rumoured that the Tower was haunted,” he said. “Until around a week or so ago, I had believed it to merely be figments of visitors’ and employees’ imagination. Now that I know of you and your, ah…” He took a moment to find the right words. “…unusual talents, I must admit that I’m far more willing to believe in their accounts.”

Phoenix didn’t respond.

Hershel fought back the urge to pull over. Whatever had happened to him, whatever he’d seen in that place, had obviously shaken this man to the core.

“So who did you see?” he asked.

Phoenix took another deep breath. The poor man looked as though he was doing everything in his power not to tremble.

“There was a woman dressed in this… really beautiful gown,” he said hesitantly. “She was carrying her head under her arm.”

So that was one of those he’d seen, was it?

“I’ve heard the ghost of Anne Boleyn is prone to that behaviour,” Hershel responded. “Congratulations, Phoenix. You witnessed the spirit of the second wife of Henry VIII.”

If Phoenix was proud of that revelation, he definitely didn’t show it.

“But I get the sense that it wasn’t her presence alone that troubled you,” Hershel prompted.

“No,” said Phoenix. “Well, I mean, yes. Seeing a lady walking around clutching her head to her stomach is horrible no matter how you slice it, but…”

He sniffed.

“…but she wasn’t the worst one I saw.”

Hershel didn’t speak. If Phoenix wanted to talk about what he had seen, he would do so in his own time, by his own will.

He kept his eyes focused on the road and heard the man beside him take a deep breath.

“There were these two boys sitting on the ground, nestled against the wall outside,” Phoenix explained. “They were… they were hugging each other and just… crying…”

He wiped his eyes on the back of his sleeve.

“I wanted to go over to them and comfort them,” he said, “but I knew I’d look crazy because nobody else could see them!”

Hershel gave him another nod of solemn understanding.

“Princes Edward and Richard,” he told Phoenix. “Taken into the Tower in the year 1483 and never seen again. It was widely rumoured that they were murdered.”

“They were…” Phoenix’s voice sounded strained and exhausted. “…they were the same age as Trucy…”

Hershel didn’t speak, and not just because he was concentrating on another intersection.

“And there was one other,” Phoenix went on. “It was… it was a girl in this… this dress that must’ve been white when it started out, but it was so drenched in blood that…”

He swallowed.

“…and she was clutching her head to her neck and crying,” said Phoenix. “It was obvious she’d been beheaded and was trying to hold her body together… she couldn’t have been more than… more than sixteen or seventeen years old…”

Hershel nodded again. It broke his heart to hear Phoenix so upset about what he’d seen, but it was important to show him that he wasn’t alone.

“Sounds to me like you witnessed the spirit of Lady Jane Grey,” he explained, “the oft-forgotten queen of the Tudor dynasty. Her reign separated that of Edward VI and Mary I, whom you may know as Bloody Mary…”

He glanced at Phoenix to show that he was still paying attention in case he spoke again.

“…and it was a reign that lasted only nine days,” he said, “after which she was soon tried and executed for the crime of being given the throne by her dying cousin.”

Phoenix didn’t look at him.

His eyes were fixed on the road ahead of them, sparkling with tears.

“…she was blindfolded,” he said weakly, “but… but I could tell she was crying…”

He finally looked directly at the Professor.

“Hershel, she was _so scared…_ ”

Hershel felt terrible for not being able to look him in the eye.

But that didn’t mean he couldn’t give his friend some comfort.

He changed gears and, once he was done with the gear stick, he rested his hand on Phoenix’s nearby wrist. He continued driving one-handed, manoeuvring the wheel to keep the car steady, as Phoenix shifted his own hand and closed his fingers around Hershel’s.

Hershel gave him a gentle squeeze.

“I’ll make you a fresh cup of tea when we get home,” he promised. “You can try dunking some more English biscuits in it, although I can’t say I personally am a fan of that practice. Trust me when I tell you that Oreo quote-unquote cookies pale in comparison to custard creams and Bourbons.”

He passed a smile in Phoenix’s direction.

“Would that go some way to, ah, lifting your spirits?” he asked.

Oh dear. There was a fairly good chance that joke had been a bit ill-timed, to say the least.

To his relief, Phoenix gave his hand another squeeze.

“Yeah,” he said softly. “Yeah, I’d like that. Thank you.”

Hershel squeezed him back.

“You’re very welcome.”

* * *

To Hershel’s relief, Trucy popped back to life as soon as he pulled up outside his home, even though Phoenix very kindly offered to carry her into the house all the same. Hershel made sure to provide the tea and biscuits he had promised, which went a considerable distance towards cheering Phoenix up, and both of them decided that Trucy was better off not knowing what had her dad so bothered during their visit to the Tower.

And by the time they were done resting, relaxing, and decompressing from their excursion, the afternoon had rolled over into evening, and Hershel rolled up his sleeves and donned an apron so that he could make a start on dinner.

Which began by turning the oven on and getting the mushrooms, the joint of beef and an arrangement of seasonings out onto the countertop.

“Any way I can help?”

Before Hershel could stop him, Phoenix had rolled up his own sleeves and brushed his hair back, obviously eager to lend a hand.

“As a matter of fact, there is,” Hershel decided, and he cut open the plastic wrapped tight around the beef. “I need you to mince these mushrooms for me-”

“Oh no,” moaned Trucy, “ _mushrooms?_ ”

Hershel chuckled at her bold-faced disgust as he tossed the plastic into the bin.

“Not to worry, Trucy,” he said, switching the stove on under the frying pan he’d set up. “They need to be so small they can be turned into a paste. You won’t have to chew a single bite of gummy mushroom, my dear young lady.”

He held his hand over the frying pan, feeling the air above it as it quickly heated through, and watching out of the corner of his eye as Phoenix set to work with the mushrooms and a large chef’s knife. Once he was sure the surface was hot enough, Hershel found a pair of forks and jabbed each into the ends of the beef, which he carefully lifted and draped into the pan.

The sizzling noise that sparked forth from that action was almost as spectacular as the scent.

“Whoa!” cried Trucy. “That’s noisy!”

“So what’s the searing for?” Phoenix asked, glancing up from his chopping board. “Is it so the meat stays juicy? That’s what every roast recipe I’ve ever seen said to do.”

“Maybe with a standard roast,” Hershel replied, sprinkling the joint with a liberal layer of salt and pepper, “but not in this case.” He turned it in the pan, revealing a growing crust of deep brown, and added more seasoning to the side now facing up. “I’ll confess that it’s a step which could be skipped, but the finished product simply wouldn’t be as enjoyable.”

He turned the joint again, revealing more gorgeous brown on its exterior, and took a look sideways at Phoenix’s work. He’d found a bowl for the mushrooms he’d chopped already, and was cutting them so small that they were almost reduced to an indistinct greyish-brown mulch.

Not only doing as Hershel requested, but keeping his promise to Trucy, Hershel realised with a smile.

“I’ll have you know, Phoenix,” he spoke up, “that there was absolutely no need for you to offer any assistance.”

“Why not?” asked Phoenix. “It seemed like this’d get done quicker with an extra pair of hands.”

“But I’m your host!” Hershel insisted as he continued searing the joint. “A gentleman never assigns his guests to servitude!”

“But Uncle Hershel!” Trucy piped up. “Shouldn’t a gentleman accept help if it’s offered?”

Hershel didn’t know what to say.

His own guests had pulled the Gentleman card on him and had left him with no way to turn them down.

“I suppose he should,” he admitted in defeat.

He sprinkled the joint with more salt and pepper as he neared completion of a full rotation, and Phoenix apparently waited until he had finished with that before nudging him in the arm.

“Hershel, how’s this?” he asked.

Hershel gave his progress another check. Half of the mushrooms had been chopped already and what was left on the chopping board – and in the bowl by its side – was a heap of discoloured, soft-looking pulp.

“You’re doing excellently so far,” he reported. “If you could continue on that path, mincing them up as small as possible, that would be exceedingly helpful.”

“See, Trucy?” Phoenix picked up the bowl and turned it for Trucy to see inside. “Nothing to chew on. We’ve just got a mushy mushroom pulp.”

Trucy’s face screwed up in disgust.

“…ew…” she groaned.

Hershel couldn’t help but laugh at such a blatant grimace.

“I promise it will turn out better than you would expect,” he told the poor girl.

Satisfied that the entire joint had been fully seared, he lifted it out of the pan and placed it on a nearby plate to rest, and turned the heat on the pan as low as possible for safety.

“Alright,” he sighed as he pulled the forks out. “Mushrooms finely minced and beef safely seared and resting. Now come the next set of steps.”

“Is there anything I can do to help?” asked Trucy.

Hershel took a moment to think as he watched Phoenix cross the three-quarters point in his mushroom chopping.

“Phoenix,” he said, “do you trust your daughter with a knife?”

Phoenix gave a pensive hum as he set to work on the final few mushrooms.

“She uses them in her performances,” he responded while Trucy grinned in pride, “so she’s probably better with a knife than I am.”

Hershel took a step back in shock.

A gentleman doesn’t pry, he reminded himself in his head. A gentleman does _not_ pry.

He cleared his throat and hoped neither of them had noticed his concern.

“Very well,” he said, and he opened the cupboard beside the oven and dug out a couple of potatoes. “Trucy, you can chop these potatoes into eighths for us.”

He held them out to her, one in each hand.

“They’re quite large and there are only three of us, so two should be sufficient,” he explained.

“Aye-aye, captain!” Trucy happily took the potatoes out of his hands.

On the counter beside the beef on its plate, Hershel laid out a wide strip of cling film and somehow managed to get it flat on the countertop without it sticking to itself.

“Phoenix,” he said over his shoulder, “would you kindly get the prosciutto out and form a layer of it on this cling film?”

Phoenix nodded and scraped the last of the minced mushrooms into the designated bowl.

“Simple enough,” he replied, and he moved past Hershel to the fridge. “What’re you up to?”

Hershel picked up the bowl and admired how finely its contents had been cut.

“I shall be taking these mushrooms you so kindly minced for me,” he told Phoenix, “and cooking them into a duxelle.”

He turned the stove back up and swilled around the oil that had been rendered out of the joint.

“A what?” asked Trucy, who had taken her father’s place at the chopping board. “What’s a duck-sell?”

“It’s like a, uh…” Phoenix stroked his chin in thought. “A stuffing. A paste. A stuffing paste. Right?”

“Yes, more or less,” Hershel said with a smile, and he brought forth an even more impressive sizzle when he emptied the bowl of mushrooms into the frying pan and stirred them around with a wooden spatula. “Could you please provide a small spoonful of minced garlic? A sprinkling of thyme, too, if you would be so kind.”

“Sure, give me a sec,” said Phoenix.

He dug a spoon out of the cutlery drawer and plopped a blob of garlic into the pan as Hershel moved the mushrooms around to cook evenly, soon followed by a generous dash of dried thyme. The smell from the pan somehow got even better as these seasonings started to cook.

That done, Phoenix went back to the prosciutto, and Hershel took a long, deep sniff of the incredible aromas that blended into the air.

He had a feeling that this dinner was going to turn out _nicely._

“I must confess in hindsight,” he said to Phoenix and Trucy, “that it truly is helpful to have a couple of extra hands around the house. Would either of you mind staying a few more months and helping Rosa with spring cleaning?”

Phoenix laughed as Hershel left the pan for the fridge and took out his two-thirds-empty pot of heavy cream.

“Tempting as that sounds,” Phoenix said, “Trucy’s education comes first. You don’t hate school _that_ much, do you, sweetie?”

“Of course not!” Trucy chirped, and she sliced the second potato into quarters. “If I didn’t go to school, I wouldn’t be able to see my friends!”

With a few more small grunts of effort, she cut the quarters of the second potato in half.

“Okay, Uncle Hershel, I’m done!” She jumped back from the chopping board in triumph.

“Excellent work, young lady,” Hershel said happily, and he emptied the pot of cream into the pan. “Phoenix, is our prosciutto plateau nearing completion?”

“Almost,” Phoenix said, “and…”

As Hershel continued stirring the thickening contents of the pan, Phoenix laid down one last strip of meat and pressed it into position.

“There!” He smiled in satisfaction. “Tried to get it as even as possible, but I figured you wouldn’t want any gaps, so there had to be some overlapping.”

“That’s perfectly alright!” Hershel happily assured him. “It simply means a sturdier platform for our duxelle.”

He mixed the contents of the pan around, watching as they grew darker and thicker.

“Speaking of which,” he said to his guests, “we are now entering phase three of our dinner production.”

“What’re your orders, Captain?” asked Trucy, snapping to attention.

Hershel smiled at her enthusiasm.

“Trucy,” he said, “you can put away the ingredients we’re finished with and dispose of the empty packaging, and perhaps get the puff pastry out of the fridge once you’re done.”

He kept moving the duxelle around. By now, it had cooked down into a thick, fragrant pâté.

“Phoenix,” he went on, “I’d like you to smear this duxelle on the prosciutto as evenly and with as much coverage as you can manage.”

“Aye-aye, sir!” Trucy gave him a salute as Hershel turned the frying pan’s handle in Phoenix’s direction.

Phoenix accepted the pan and the wooden spatula, and he set to work layering the thick mushroom mix onto the flattened prosciutto.

“You _really_ know what you’re doing here, huh?” he asked.

Hershel smiled as he took the mustard out of the cupboard.

“It’s been a while since I prepared this dish,” he explained as he opened the pot, “but I’m rather proud of my memory. And while you spread the duxelle…”

He fetched a pastry brush from his utensil stand and dipped it into the mustard, feeling almost like a painter as he smeared the yellow paste onto the browned joint of beef.

“Oh, _that’s_ what the mustard’s for,” Phoenix said when he saw what Hershel was doing. “I figured we were going to be making sandwiches or something!”

“Not so much, I’m afraid,” Hershel chuckled. “This is mostly for adhesion purposes, but as with the searing, it’s also for subtle flavour improvement. There isn’t much subtle about an immense American-hotdog-style squirt of mustard, wouldn’t you say?”

“Okay, I’m done!” Trucy chirped.

Hershel glanced down at her, bouncing on her heels in pride.

“Did you get the pastry out?” he asked, and he stabbed the joint with the forks again to turn it for even coverage.

“Shoot!” Trucy dashed to the fridge and snatched the packet of puff pastry out, and practically slammed it onto the countertop beside the stove. “Okay, NOW I’m done!”

“I think I am too,” said Phoenix, and Hershel saw him out of the corner of his eye as he flattened down the last scoop of duxelle. “What do you think, Hershel? Does that look even? I had to use all of it to make sure everything was covered-”

“No, that’s perfectly alright,” Hershel assured him, and he set the mustard and brush aside. “Could you please move over a little?”

Phoenix stepped back with a dramatic bow and flourish of his hand, and Hershel couldn’t help but smile as he lifted the joint onto the duxelle-doused prosciutto.

“This next step is particularly vital,” he told his assistants.

Once he’d pulled the forks out, he used the cling film to press the two layers against the joint and roll it up as tightly as possible.

“Dang,” said Phoenix. “I got the layer just the right size!”

“Great job, Dad!” Trucy said happily.

Hershel rolled the joint on the countertop and twisted the ends of the cling film together, wrapping the joint as tight as possible, and he flipped it around in his hands for extra tightness. Once that was done, he moved to the fridge and gently placed their future dinner inside.

“We now allow our little log of meat and mushroom to rest in the fridge,” he told Phoenix and Trucy, “so that the various components can adhere to one-another.”

He closed the fridge and dusted off his hands.

“And while that’s going on, let’s roll out the pastry.”

He pulled out his rolling pin and a bag of flour, and sprinkled the counter on the other side of the stove with a liberal coating that he also applied to the pin.

“I’ve heard a lot of things about English food being nothing but bland grease,” Phoenix commented as Hershel laid the pastry on the floured surface, “but everything we’ve done so far has smelled amazing.”

“Yeah, don’t you guys fry everything?” asked Trucy. “A full English breakfast is fried eggs, fried sausages, fried bacon, um…”

Hershel smiled as he rubbed the pastry with flour.

“It also includes fried bread, mushrooms and tomatoes,” He explained. “Usually baked beans as well. Perhaps even black pudding if it tickles your fancy.”

“Dang!” Phoenix exclaimed. “You Brits sure like to give your stomachs a challenge.”

The comment made Hershel laugh yet again.

“I’ll admit that I usually steer away from severe frying,” he told Phoenix as he started rolling, “but having spent some time in the depths of our winter, can you honestly blame us for our fatty food? You’d freeze to death out there if you didn’t have some meat on your bones.”

“Uncle Hershel, are you calling yourself fat?!” cried Trucy.

“Well-”

Before he could get another word out, Trucy latched onto his midsection in a tight, loving hug.

“You’re NOT fat, Uncle Hershel!” she shouted. “You’re exactly the size you need to be! You’re perfect the way you are, you hear me?!”

“I hear you, I hear you!” Hershel responded. “Now would you kindly release me? I worry that I may elbow you in the face by mistake!”

“Oh, sorry!” Trucy jumped back from his body.

Hershel gave her another smile. He would have patted her on the head if his hands weren’t covered in flour.

“Trucy,” he said as he resumed his rolling, “you will be reassured to know I’m well aware that I am not, as you say, ‘fat’. I make efforts to maintain a certain level of athleticism so that if I ever find myself in any situation that calls for physical activity, I shall be well prepared for it.”

Such as rolling cold pastry, he noted to himself, pressing all of his strength onto the rolling pin to flatten down the dough.

“And I hate to admit it,” he went on, “but that includes combat situations.”

“Combat?” He couldn’t see his face, but he knew Phoenix was raising an eyebrow at him. “You mean like back in Fatargan when you were all fighting off the Painted King’s horde?”

“Yes, I’m afraid so,” Hershel replied. “I wish it hadn’t come to it, but if a situation takes a turn such that I _must_ fight, then I intend to be ready for it. However, I will admit that battling the horde was one of the most difficult fights I’ve ever been involved in.”

“How was it difficult?” asked Trucy. “Uncle Hershel, they were ghosts! Surely it was like they weren’t even there!”

Hershel frowned.

“The lack of corporeal form is what made the fight so difficult,” he told her. “When one is experienced in fighting with a sword, one comes to expect resistance. Strike out with your blade and you should find it met by a block, a parry, perhaps even your opponent’s body. But when you fight something that doesn’t seem to be there…”

He glanced down at his bandaged arm.

“I think I get what you were talking about,” said Phoenix. “You didn’t seem to have anything against your sword and it threw you off-balance. Is that what you mean? Like how throwing a big punch at thin air can make you fall over.”

Still rolling, Hershel nodded.

“I daresay you hit the nail on the head, my friend,” he replied. “Being unaccustomed to a lack of resistance led me to overcompensate in my attacks, in turn leading to…”

He paused the rolling to point at his forearm.

Part of him was relieved that he couldn’t see Phoenix’s face at that moment.

“Once everything’s in the oven,” Phoenix said, “remind us to take a look and see how well you’re healing.”

“Of course,” said Hershel, and he stepped back from the flattened pastry. “For now, I’d say it’s time for the final assembly. Phoenix, would you mind beating an egg for us? And Trucy, could you lay down a fresh sheet of cling film?”

“I’m on it!”

“Yes, sir!”

After setting the rolling pin aside, Hershel returned to the fridge and retrieved the wrapped-up joint of beef and tossed an egg to Phoenix, who caught it one-handed. Upon returning to the counter, Hershel laid the pastry atop the sheet of cling film Trucy had set down (thanking her for her contribution, of course) and set the prosciutto-bound joint on the edge of that pastry.

“Could one of you please set out a roasting pan for us? They’re in the cupboard by the door.”

“You got it, Uncle Hershel!”

Using the cling film, just as he had with the first wrapping, Hershel rolled the pastry around the joint, feeling almost as though he was preparing the world’s largest roll of sushi. He twisted the film as tight as he possibly could, again flipping the joint around between his hands, and once he was satisfied that it was tight enough, he pulled the film away and set the entire log on the tray Trucy had set out for him.

He softly scored the top with the blunt side of the knife, brushed Phoenix’s beaten egg over it (after rinsing the mustard off the brush, of course) and sprinkled it with one last little pinch of salt.

And then, after surrounding it with the potatoes that Trucy had so kindly cut up, the entire tray went into the oven.

There.

That was done.

A glare from Phoenix was enough to remind Hershel of what he’d agreed to, so he made himself comfortable at the table while his friend sought out a first aid kid.

The least he could do was make himself useful by starting on the bandages.

“Does it still hurt?” Phoenix asked as he sat down beside Hershel.

“It stings a little from time to time,” Hershel admitted, “but it isn’t anything I can’t bear. Trust me when I say that my back is far more painful, but I don’t intend to remove my shirt at the dinner table. Especially not with a lady present.”

“A lady?” Trucy’s face turned as red as her scarf. “Oh my _gosh._ ”

She buried her face in her hands and ducked below the table.

“Keep covering your eyes, sweetie,” Phoenix told her as he set out a bottle of rubbing alcohol and the cotton swabs that were in the first aid kit. “I have a feeling this’ll be something you don’t want to look at.”

He took the end of the bandage out of Hershel’s fingers, finished unwrapping it for him, and pulled the long strip of fabric away.

Hershel hissed in pain as the open air hit his wounds.

“You okay?” asked Phoenix.

“Yes, it…” Hershel cleared his throat. “I’m alright. Like I said, it stings a little.”

The cuts on his arm were a deep shade of reddish-brown, with spots of brighter red where they’d stuck to the bandage. He must have opened them without realising at some point, thankfully not enough to leave him with blood dripping down his skin.

It disturbed him that from the spacing, length and number of scratches, it was _abundantly_ clear that they had been created by human fingernails.

“I’m not surprised,” Phoenix said. “They still look pretty nasty.”

“I’m doing what you said, Daddy!” Trucy said from under the table. “I’m not looking!”

“Good girl,” said Phoenix, and he soaked a cotton swab in alcohol. “It’s enough that you involved yourself in the murder investigations in Fatargan, and I’m not having you seeing this sort of thing if you can avoid it.”

“Phoenix, what about you?” asked Hershel. “The wounds on your side are far worse than these!”

“It’s, uh…” Phoenix dabbed the wet swab against the exposed arm, and Hershel gritted his teeth. “It’s bearable. Don’t worry about it. I’ve had worse.”

Hershel had to remind himself to breathe. Breathe, you fool. This will be much easier to handle if you just _breathe._

“So I’ve heard,” he sighed. “Mr Edgeworth told me that you once fell off a bridge into a raging river. Please tell me that he was exaggerating.”

Phoenix hesitated mid-dab.

“Uh…” He stared down, blatantly avoiding eye contact. “Actually, I think he was underselling it.”

“It was winter!” Trucy piped up from under the table. “And the bridge was _forty feet_ above the raging river! And the reason Dad fell off it is because it broke under him because it was on fire!”

The information slammed into Hershel so fast that he barely had time to catch it all in one go.

He stared at the impassive Phoenix’s face, too distracted to notice the sting in his arm anymore.

Forty feet? True, it was only a little over twelve metres, but in _winter?_ Trucy had specified that the river was ‘raging’ so that meant it wasn’t frozen, but a fall like that would have been devastating all the same! And the bridge had been on _fire?!_

“…um…” Hershel desperately searched his mind for something to say. “…Phoenix…”

Phoenix just shrugged.

“I got better,” he said bluntly.

“Daddy’s a lot tougher than he looks, Uncle Hershel!” Trucy declared.

Hershel did everything he could not to stare.

To have gone through a nightmare like that and come out the other side with a smile…

“…so I’ve noticed,” he said softly.

And then the alcohol dribbled over one of the cuts on his arm. He clenched his fist, his toes curled inside his shoes, and he hissed in pain again as the sting pierced into his skin like a needle.

“I’m sorry!” Phoenix yanked the swab away.

In spite of the burning pain, Hershel tried his hardest to even out his breathing.

“I’m fine, Phoenix,” he sighed, “but your concern is very touching.”

Phoenix managed a faint smile as he continued wiping down Hershel’s wounds with the alcohol.

“Thank you,” he said quietly.

With another deep breath, Hershel tried to relax again. He couldn’t let this minor and temporary pain get the better of him.

Especially not when Phoenix was being so gentle and considerate.

So kind.

So caring.

So…

…so _loving._

Hershel honestly didn’t know what to say to him. What _could_ he say in a moment like this?

“Oh my gosh, they’re HUGE!”

Trucy’s shout cut into his mind before he could think of anything.

“Trucy!” Phoenix snapped.

“I’m sorry!” Trucy turned away and covered her face again. “I got curious and it was killing me that I couldn’t see!”

She parted her fingers, ever so slightly, and looked up at Hershel.

“Uncle Hershel, are you sure you’re okay?” she asked. “Those look horrible!”

Hershel almost laughed at how high-pitched and squeaky her voice had become from shock.

“I’m perfectly alright, Trucy,” he assured her, “but your concern is very touching. I beg you not to try to take a look at the wounds on my back, as I’m sure that those are far worse than my arm.”

“Hate to say it,” added Phoenix, “but I took a look back in Fatargan and yeah, they really are.”

He suddenly frowned and avoided Hershel’s gaze again.

“Sorry,” he said nervously. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

“Remind me to take a look at _your_ wounds at some point in the near future,” Hershel told him. “I’d like to know whether or not they’re healing properly.”

Phoenix blew out a mirthless laugh.

“Again, I hate to say it,” he said, “but it’s not the worst thing a ghost’s ever done to me.”

And there he went, avoiding eye contact yet again.

“…that’s not a book I’m looking to open up anytime soon.”

But before he had a chance to feel too low, his daughter stepped up beside him and wrapped her arms around his waist.

He reached back and patted on her head.

“Thanks, sweetie,” he said with a smile.

Just the sight of them was enough to calm Hershel’s heart, although he couldn’t keep himself from looking back down at his wounded arm. It was fairly difficult to ignore, after all.

“It may sound strange,” he said, “but the wounds feel a lot worse than they look. The spirits that attacked us only broke the skin. They didn’t dig into the muscle tissue or damage any nerves or organs-”

“I know, right?” Phoenix interjected. “But I have a feeling that if we got scratched up enough, we would _definitely_ have been killed back there.”

Hershel sighed.

“Death by a thousand cuts,” he said solemnly. “I can’t overstate my relief that nobody took a strike to the face or neck.”

“No!” Trucy shrank back behind Phoenix’s body.

“Ah.” Hershel suddenly remembered how old she was. “I’m sorry.”

“Yeah,” said Phoenix, “maybe you should avoid speculating about slow and horrible ways to die when you’re sitting in front of a ten-year-old.”

“My apologies,” Hershel said. “I tend to forget that not every child is as experienced as Luke.”

Phoenix hesitated, damp swab halfway down Hershel’s arm.

“…what, um…” he said slowly. “…what was Luke doing when he was ten?”

Hershel couldn’t help but smile at the memories that arose at that question.

“Remind me to tell you during dinner,” he replied.

Phoenix took a fresh roll of bandages from the first aid kit, and Hershel lifted his arm to make dressing his arm easier.

“We’re probably going to have to do this again a few days from now,” Phoenix told him, “but hopefully you’ll be more healed by then. I hope they don’t leave you scarred.”

Hershel simply responded with a shrug.

“It wouldn’t be the first scar I’ve received,” he stated, “and I highly doubt it would be the last.”

Phoenix’s head whipped up from the bandaging and he stared at Hershel with his jaw hanging slack.

…perhaps that had been the wrong thing to say, Hershel considered, and he shut his mouth before he could say anything else that was unintentionally concerning.

“Hey!” Trucy bounced on her heels again. “If we have some time before dinner’s ready, then why don’t you tell us the story now? Surely it isn’t going to take very long!”

It was hard not to laugh at that idea.

“You’d be surprised,” Hershel said. “Besides which, I need to prepare some vegetables to accompany-”

“Nooooooooo!” Trucy sank to the floor in her closest imitation of slow motion.

Phoenix sniggered so hard that he almost stabbed Hershel in the arm with a safety pin.

“Trucy,” he said, “someday you’ll find yourself enjoying many different varieties of vegetables. Don’t you think it’d be a good idea to get a head start?”

“If it makes you feel any better,” said Hershel, “I plan on steaming some carrots. Not only that, but some onion gravy would accompany our roasted dinner quite wonderfully, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Onion…” Phoenix spoke slowly again as he pinned the bandage in place. “…gravy?”

Hershel laughed again as he pulled his arm back.

“Have no fear,” he told his friends. “It’s far more delicious than it sounds.”

* * *

So Hershel set to work on the gravy. When Phoenix offered to help again, he assigned the man to carrot duty, with Trucy taking the task of putting the first aid kit away and arranging crockery and cutlery on the table.

Before he knew it, a full forty-five minutes had passed, and Hershel arranged everything on the table. A bowl of steamed carrots, a jug of onion gravy, and the tray bearing roasted potatoes and the completed beef wellington.

The smell that coiled into the air when he cut into it was nothing short of breathtaking.

The only thing more satisfying was the taste. Perfectly pink beef, a flavourful skin of mushrooms and meat, crispy puff pastry, with a side of crunchy roasted potatoes and soft steamed carrots all topped with onion gravy…

…small wonder Trucy looked as though she was about to start crying from joy. Phoenix was around the same level as her in terms of his ability to contain himself; those were _definitely_ tears sparkling in his eyes as he chewed on his mouthful.

Hershel couldn’t blame them. They’d done a darn good job on this meal.

As they enjoyed the food, Hershel told them what he’d meant regarding Luke being an experienced ten-year-old. How he’d received a coded SOS from the boy to call him to the town of Misthallery, met his energetic assistant Emmy on the way, and they had found the village under threat from a mysterious mythical Spectre that ripped the buildings apart night after night.

Phoenix and Trucy remained just as fantastic an audience as they had been back in Fatargan. They smiled in sympathy when they heard about how troubled Luke had been, with Phoenix definitely wiping away a tear as Hershel told him how the boy had struggled to trust his father. He clutched his chest and heaved a sigh of relief when Hershel assured him that their relationship had been repaired and they had become closer than ever as a result of their shared experience.

And somehow, when he told them about Descole, the pair of them both laughed. No, it didn’t take a genius investigator to work out why. His plan was so outrageous, his actions so impossibly extreme, his manner and demeanour so dramatic and flashy… and knowing the truth about him behind all that made it hard to think back on him without a smile.

Although Hershel had to admit that his killing of Loosha was a little bit too much.

Still, he wouldn’t have cared too much if this evening had gone on forever. He felt more relaxed in the company of the Wrights than he had in every single day of the time he had spent alone at home. With Luke overseas, Flora at school, Emmy walking the world and his brother long since vanished without trace…

It was strange how he never noticed how lonely he was until, well, he wasn’t anymore.

By the time their conversations were finally winding down, the evening had worn on to an exhausting degree. Trucy had slumped back in her chair, clutching her stomach, smiling until the point that she let out a gigantic yawn that quickly spread to her father.

So after patting her on the head, Phoenix offered to take her upstairs and tuck her in, and Hershel took that opportunity to tidy everything away. Wrapping the wellington in tin foil, putting it with the leftover gravy in the fridge, rinsing the plates and cutlery and filing all the dirty crockery into the dishwasher Emmy had insisted he get to save her the pain of washing up…

It wasn’t until he’d programmed its time and setting that he realised how long it had been since he’d felt so at ease in another’s company, and how happy to perform these simple domestic chores.

If he had to put a finger on it…

…it had been a little over twelve years.

His heart suddenly ached. Had it really been so long? Not just since he’d been this happy, but since that vital, cheerful, beautiful part of his life had been ripped away?

He leaned on the kitchen counter and tried to steady his breathing. It wouldn’t do him any favours to break down crying right here and now, even with the grief that knotted in his throat, and the guilt that thrust into his chest like a knife blade.

Could he really forgive himself if his heart found someone other than Claire?

He tried to put those thoughts of his mind as he wiped down his countertops. It wouldn’t do to dwell on these possibilities while the guest who was sparking these feelings was still in the house.

The knock on the door behind Hershel almost startled him.

Not only still in the house, but _right behind him._

“Any problems?” he asked over his shoulder.

“Nope,” said Phoenix. “It’s like you’d said back in Fatargan. She’s an angel.”

Hershel set his dishcloth beside the sink.

“Then I would be grateful if you would allow me to take a look at your wounds,” he said. “I shan’t rest easy unless I know that you’re healthy and healing properly.”

“Um…” Phoenix’s tone became hesitant. “…o-okay.”

Oh dear. Perhaps that had been a little bit too forward.

“Is something wrong?” Hershel asked, looking back at him still in the doorway.

“No, no, it’s fine!” Phoenix hurriedly insisted. “It’s fine. I’m fine.”

His anxiety was bordering on the edge of adorable.

Hershel tried to bury that thought and got the first aid kit out again, and carried it under his arm as he led Phoenix into the lounge room.

“Make yourself comfortable on the sofa,” he instructed. “I’m very glad to have some proper disinfectant with me this time-” He sat down and opened the first aid kit on his lap. “-meaning I don’t have to rely on heat for sterilisation, but I’m afraid I couldn’t dress your wounds without bandaging a majority of your torso. While I have a feeling you wouldn’t mind too terribly-”

“That’d be a lot of bandages,” Phoenix said for him. “It’s okay, I’m a fast healer.”

“So I’ve heard,” said Hershel.

Once he had the disinfectant and swabs, he set the open first aid kit on the floor in front of his feet.

“If you could raise your shirt again?” he asked as he wetted a swab.

Phoenix obediently rolled his shirt up to his armpit, revealing the wounds underneath.

In the better lighting, they looked somehow worse than they had on the cold night when he’d first received them. Stark and deep red against his sun-kissed skin, almost black in some parts and bright scarlet in others, they looked around on the same level as the state of Hershel’s own injuries that he’d received almost a full day afterwards.

He hesitated, swab in hand, and hummed in thought.

“Is something wrong?” asked Phoenix.

“I can’t say I’m impressed with how these look,” Hershel told him. “I had expected such narrow and shallow wounds to be closing by now, but these appear to still be in the scab stage of healing.”

He gently pressed his damp swab against Phoenix’s side.

“I’ll make sure they’re clean,” he said, “but we may want to consider professional medical attention if things don’t improve.”

He stroked down the length of one of the scratches as delicately as he could.

“Right, o-okay,” said Phoenix. “Guess I’m not as fast at healing as I’d thought- ah!”

“I’m sorry!”

“It’s okay, it just stings a bit! I’m fine! I’m fine, I promise!”

Phoenix’s bare skin flexed with his breath.

“Don’t worry,” he said calmly. “I’m fine.”

Hershel blew out a long sigh of relief.

“Very well,” he said once his heart had stopped pounding, and he went back to wiping down the wounds. “Quite frankly, it still amazes me that our bodies were damaged while our clothes remained pristine, save for the blood. I would have thought that should spectral damage occur, it would affect far more than just our flesh.”

Phoenix sighed too, although it definitely wasn’t from relief.

“I know I’m probably more experienced with it than you are,” he told Hershel, “but I don’t think I’ll ever understand how ghosts and haunting and psychic powers and all that stuff really work.”

Hershel glanced up at him as he rubbed his eye.

“Just when I think I’ve figured it out,” he went on, “I realise I was wrong about something and I need to start all over again. Heck, just learning ghosts were real was a revelation itself!”

“I could say the same for myself,” said Hershel. “I had wholeheartedly believed them to be a scientific impossibility, but I suppose there are some aspects of our world that science still has yet to explain.”

He rested the used swab on his knee, relieved by the lack of red stains on the cotton, and he wetted another so the cleaning could continue.

He didn’t know whether or not to be glad Phoenix wasn’t flinching anymore. Either Hershel cleaning his wounds didn’t hurt, or it did and he’d grown used to the pain. The former was a possibility, but given what Phoenix’s track record seemed to be, that latter would _not_ have been surprising.

Hershel couldn’t help but wonder how many other scars he’d gathered during this awful life he’d lived.

“If I may ask…”

He’d spoken without thinking.

“Yeah?” said Phoenix.

Now that his interest had been piqued, this question _had_ to be asked.

“Do forgive my curiosity,” Hershel said. “What exactly were the circumstances that led you to fall off a burning bridge and into a raging river?”

Phoenix didn’t respond.

Hard to blame him with what they were talking about.

“If you’d rather not say,” said Hershel, “that’s perfectly alright.”

“No, no,” said Phoenix. “I’m happy to tell you. I just wish Maya was here to help.”

“She was with you?” Hershel’s heart almost stopped from shock. “I can’t imagine that was a sight she particularly enjoyed!”

With what he’d heard about how horrified Maya had been upon thinking the Professor had been turned into a gold statue…

“She, uh…” He heard Phoenix swallow. “She didn’t see it. The whole reason I ran onto that bridge in the first place is because, um…”

Oh dear, this really _was_ a painful memory.

“I had reason to believe,” Phoenix said, steadily pacing his words, “that she was trapped on the other side of it with a murderer.”

Hershel’s entire body froze in horror.

“Was she alright?!” He spoke far louder and faster than he’d intended. “I understand that we’ve both been busy, but you’ve barely mentioned her in all the time we’ve been together-”

“She’s okay! Don’t worry!” Phoenix interrupted his panic. “Last I saw, she was totally fine. And it wasn’t arson, by the way. The bridge caught fire because of a freak lightning strike. I was just crazy and desperate enough to run onto it to try and save Maya.”

Hershel tried to focus on cleaning his wounds again.

“…and your weight caused the bridge to collapse underneath you,” he said.

He couldn’t see, but he knew Phoenix was nodding.

“It turns out a super-old wooden structure doesn’t hold up too well if it’s been burning for a whole hour.”

Hershel shook his head.

“So I had assumed,” he muttered. “Truly a lesson for the ages.”

He sighed again.

“You fool…”

Perhaps that had been ungentlemanly of him to say, but it was true. Phoenix Wright was an absolute _fool._

“I landed myself in hospital for a full day after that,” Phoenix told him. “Went out of my mind with worry about Maya. If Larry hadn’t called Edgeworth… I don’t know.”

“Larry?” Hershel hesitated again at the sound of the unfamiliar name. “Another friend of yours?”

The lack of immediate response told him he’d landed Phoenix in another uncomfortable quandary.

“…I mean…” he said nervously. “…he seems to think so. We aren’t as close as we used to be, but somehow he always comes through if it’s a crisis. He thinks himself an artist. Seems to pop up everywhere you’d least expect him. Maybe _you’ll_ meet him sometime.”

With how he spoke of the man, Hershel couldn’t help laughing again.

“Would that I could be so lucky,” he chuckled.

He wiped down the fourth of Phoenix’s wounds without even an inkling of pain.

This poor man… just how much had he tolerated over the years? How much agony had he suppressed for the sake of putting on a smile for the wider world?

If how much he’d tried to keep hidden just for Trucy’s sake was any indication…

“…you’re really quite a warrior, aren’t you?” Hershel asked.

He moved down the clean the last and smallest of the scratches.

“Seems like both of us have been through a lot,” said Phoenix.

Hershel smiled to himself.

Phoenix was right. Perhaps, in both the best and worst respects, the two of them were perfectly matched.

“What’s that?”

He froze again right as he was finishing on the last scratch.

“What’s what?”

“That.” Phoenix pointed down his shirt. “Is that a pendant?”

“Oh, this, um…” Hershel pulled the pendant out of his shirt. “…oh dear, how should I explain this…”

“While I was waiting for you and Trucy on the London Eye, I got to talking with a guy who sat next to me,” Phoenix told him. “He had a pendant just like that one.”

Hershel’s blood ran cold.

No.

No, it couldn’t be. Not him. Surely not after all this time.

“What did he look like?” he asked, even though he wasn’t sure if he wanted to hear the answer.

“Uh…” Phoenix hesitated again. “Glasses, long hair, had kind of a mean look about him- oh yeah, and he was wearing a cloak. A really long one. Kind of a Phantom of the Opera vibe.”

It was.

It really _was._

It was _him._ In London. Three years after he’d vanished into a crumbling ruin.

No, of course he’d survived. This was _him_ they were talking about. Of course he would have found some way out of that mess and no doubt started another wild adventure.

But why here? Why now? What in the world was he doing in London?!

“You know him?” asked Phoenix.

And now that he’d stayed quiet for so long, Hershel realised he owed an explanation.

“I can’t say this is how I wanted you to find out about him,” he said, “but I do believe you met my brother.”

As he’d expected, Phoenix needed a moment to process that fact.

“You’re right,” he said. “This _isn’t_ the best way to find out.”

“We’ve never been close, I’m afraid,” Hershel confessed. “Until around three years ago, I had no idea we were even related. He was terribly troublesome prior to when he made me aware of that fact, and that’s cutting an awfully long story short, but…”

He swallowed.

“I had presumed him dead,” he explained. “Safe to say we’ve been estranged ever since.”

There. He’d said it. It was out in the open and now they could deal with it.

“But you’re still wearing matching pendants,” Phoenix pointed out.

Hershel rubbed his thumb over the pale crystal.

“I wear mine as reassurance to myself that there are those who love and care about me,” he said. “Whether or not his motivation is similar, I couldn’t say.”

“He seemed pretty wistful when he thought about you,” Phoenix told him. “That motivation might be more similar than you think.”

Hershel lowered the swab away from his friend’s body.

“That is a relief,” he said. “I don’t think I could bear to-”

He straightened up mid-sentence.

“…be alone…”

Their faces were close.

Very close.

_Too_ close.

He could feel Phoenix’s breath, warm on his face, and their noses were nearly touching at the tip. He could see every detail in those two-toned eyes. Every fleck of golden caramel in the brown and every streak of ocean green in the blue. His face toned by sunlight and framed by haphazard locks of rich black hair.

His lips, flushed and parted in anticipation…

“I don’t want you to be alone either,” he whispered.

He reached up and straightened Hershel’s hat.

Hershel’s whole body was paralysed. He hadn’t even realised his hat had been knocked askew.

They were still unbearably close to one-another, but he didn’t dare speak.

Whether it was from fear that Phoenix might pull away or fear that he wouldn’t, he almost couldn’t tell.

This had to stop. He had to make it stop. And if he didn’t find one way to make it stop, he was positive Phoenix would find another.

“…um…”

He leaned back and cleared his throat, and pressed himself up from the sofa before he could be stopped.

“Try not to put any undue strain on your body,” he told Phoenix, and he tucked his pendant back into his shirt. “While slower than I’d hope, those scratches do appear to be healing and I wouldn’t want you to rip them open again.”

“Yeah, I-” Phoenix cleared his throat too. “Uh, I know. Same to you.”

Hershel tried to put _that_ little moment out of his mind as he leaned back and stretched his shoulders.

“It’s getting late,” he said. “Are you tired?”

Phoenix stood up with a groan.

“Yeah,” he said. “I think I’m going to call it a night too. Thanks for, um…” He coughed. “Cleaning me up. And damn, that beef wellington was… oh man.”

Thank goodness that comment was enough to make Hershel laugh. He couldn’t have handled another moment of tension.

“Just goes to show,” he said proudly, “you can’t trust every stereotype you hear about the English.”

He watched Phoenix walk towards the doorway.

Goodness, his shoulders were broad…

“So you’re going to bed?” Hershel asked.

“Yeah, I was just, uh…” Phoenix ran a hand over his face. “Just going to take a shower first.”

“I understand,” said Hershel. “Sleep well.”

“You too,” Phoenix replied.

Hershel carried the first aid kit back to the kitchen and put it away, trying not to let his thoughts linger as he did so.

He turned all the lights off, hurried upstairs and changed into his pyjamas, heart pounding out of his chest the whole way up.

As he nestled down under his duvet, he tried his hardest not to think about the warmth of Phoenix’s skin, or the extraordinary colours in his eyes.

And he wondered if Phoenix, perhaps, was thinking about him the same way.


	4. Chapter 4

Following a wake-up shower, the next morning’s breakfast was, thankfully, uneventful. Cups of tea and jam on toast was all they needed to fuel themselves up for the morning to come, and Hershel was relieved that Phoenix didn’t mention what had happened last night – whatever it had been – to Trucy. He had no idea how she would respond, but he had a feeling it would be… embarrassing, to say the least.

But even so, Hershel repeatedly caught Phoenix eyeing him, although not as often as he caught himself eyeing Phoenix. Admiring how his hair framed his face, both complimenting and contrasting against his eyes, brushing against the ramrod-straight cut of his jawline… how his eyes sparkled when he smiled at his daughter…

There really was something oddly enchanting about him, although Hershel couldn’t have put his finger on what it was even if he’d been asked.

Once they had eaten their fill and Hershel had mentally added bread to his shopping list (“Sorry, Trucy-Goosy, but eating a _sixth_ piece of toast will definitely make you carsick!”) they all piled into the car.

This time, however, Hershel didn’t tell them where he was taking them. He didn’t even give them a hint. He just knew that the looks on their faces when they arrived would be nothing short of utter perfection.

Sure enough, when he’d parked and Trucy saw the large entry sign reading ‘London Zoo’, she practically exploded from joy.

“The _zoo!_ ” she screamed, jumping up and down and clutching her dad’s arm in glee. “Daddy! Dad, it’s the ZOO!”

“I can see that!” Phoenix laughed. “It’s the zoo! It’s really the zoo! It’s London Zoo!”

He looked up at the entry sign, shielding his eyes from the sun.

“I wonder if that snake from the first Harry Potter movie is still here?” he wondered.

“I highly doubt that the glass really did vanish as we saw,” Hershel said, “but I suppose there’s only one way to find out. Shall we?”

And with a tip of his hat, he led them into the zoo.

It sadly didn’t take long for spirits to be dampened, although it wasn’t by any of their doing. No sooner had they stepped through the main entrance than their attention was caught by a large group of teenagers nearby, all gathered around a single adult who was trying to address them all in a noticeable American accent.

High-schoolers, Phoenix noted with a grimace, and rowdy ones at that. He cringed at the sound of one in particular who just would _not_ tone down his volume.

With that in mind, Hershel led them away from the entrance as quickly as he could. He took them through the tunnel that led under the road running past the zoo, revealing to his companions that it in fact ran _through_ the zoo-

-but as he did, a strange sensation overcame him.

A sensation he only knew as eyes on the back of his head. Every hair on the back of his neck stood on end. And his heart began to pound like crazy.

As they emerged into the daylight, he cast a cursory glance at their surroundings and found nothing.

Perhaps it was only his paranoia?

Or maybe just an admirer. He knew by now that his beautiful top hat made him highly recognisable as Professor Hershel Layton, the man constantly on the cover of the London Times. Perhaps the sensation would disperse, he considered, if he was met by someone who approached him for an autograph.

The first enclosure they passed was the hippos, which had taken refuge from the winter cold in their watering hole and were only visible by the tops of their heads. The sight of their beady little eyes, looking up from just above the surface, and their floppy ears flapping about was more than enough to bring a smile to Phoenix and Trucy’s faces, and Hershel made sure to tip his hat to them in greeting.

The African hunting dogs were running around their enclosure, engaging in an activity that Phoenix eloquently referred to as ‘zoomies’ spurred on by the breakfast they’d just had, and Trucy squealed in joy when she saw a litter of tiny pups scampering around and tumbling across the ground.

Hershel couldn’t blame her. In proportion to their little bodies, their ears were _massive._

From there, they passed the zebra and okapi enclosures, and Trucy marvelled at what she called the okapi’s “zebra butts”. When pressed for an explanation of how that was possible, Hershel was saddened to admit that he had no idea how to respond. He was an archaeologist, after all, not a zoologist.

If only he could have remembered all of those nature documentaries he’d watched with his parents as a child…

After that, there came the giraffes, which were so, _so_ much bigger than Hershel had anticipated. He’d heard how tall they were, of course, but to see them in the flesh was something else entirely. One of them approached the viewing balcony, staring down at them with gigantic dark eyes sparkling in the sunlight, and it leaned right down to say hello to them. Its head alone was the size of Hershel’s torso and he had to try his utmost to avoid stumbling back in sheer terror.

Phoenix, on the other hand, lifted Trucy up so that she could pet the creature’s gigantic nose. It nuzzled into her palm and she shrieked in shock and excitement even though she and her father had almost been pushed to the ground.

From there, they found their way to the lemur section, which all three of them were surprised to find was a path through an open enclosure. At a passing zookeeper’s suggestion, Hershel and Phoenix pulled their hats off while they moved through the area, with Phoenix stowing his into his pocket and Hershel clutching his to his chest. He almost dropped it in shock when a ringtail lemur leapt right across the path in front of them, between the fences, and stared at them with bulging yellow eyes once it had found a perch.

In spite of its attempt at a scare, Hershel had to admit it was rather cute. With how fluffy its fur looked and how close it was, he had to fight back temptation to try petting it as though it were a cat. Something in his mind told him it would be an incomprehensibly bad idea. He had _no_ idea where this creature had been or what it had been doing with those tiny little paws. For all he knew, it could have just escaped from a faeces-slinging contest.

They passed a rainforest enclosure, featuring other types of lemurs, and a sloth that hung so still from its branch that until it blinked at them, Hershel feared that it might be dead. All the meerkats in the area they passed through were hiding underground from the cold, but the otters were freely scampering around and a couple seemed to be chasing a butterfly. Trucy looked as though she could burst into tears from how adorable they were, and if Hershel wanted to be honest, he couldn’t blame her.

They followed the path back under the road and into the main section of the zoo’s area, where they checked the amphitheatre and sadly found that it was closed until April. However, spirits were lifted when Phoenix pointed out that they weren’t too far from the gorilla’s section, and those American high schoolers had moved on to elsewhere. It would be a good idea to visit that area while it was quiet and free of rowdy teenagers, wouldn’t it?

When they reached the gorillas, Trucy was quickly drawn to one that sat against a viewing window, lazily leaning on the glass with its eyes half closed. Struck by how bored it was, Trucy ran over to it and pulled a deck of cards out of the bag on her hip. The gorilla watched as she pulled out a Joker and waved it around for it to see, and it followed her movements with its eyes still drowsily half-lidded… up until the point that she flourished her hand and the card vanished. Its jaw fell slack and lips pursed out, and its shoulders shook as if it was laughing before it clambered to its feet and ran out into the open.

Trucy showed Phoenix and Hershel where the card had gone – she’d simply passed it behind her fingers and clutched it at the knuckle, out of her spectator’s sight – and just as she was about to put her Joker away, the gorilla she’d been performing to came bounding back to the window, this time followed by a friend. Trucy gleefully performed her little trick again and the newcomer slapped its furry knees in glee.

Phoenix picked up the little performer and hugged her to his chest. She’d brightened those creatures’ day in a way they couldn’t possibly have expected.

Hershel didn’t contribute to the conversation. He couldn’t when the strange prickling feeling on his neck had returned, stronger than ever, and he got the distinct sensation that he wasn’t being watched by a gorilla.

With that in mind, he suggested moving on to the reptile house, which Phoenix and Trucy both eagerly agreed to in the hopes that they could bear witness to a location from a film they enjoyed.

No sooner had they entered than Phoenix’s attention was drawn to the floor in front of one of the enclosures – one holding a large and sleepy-looking python – where he found a number of coins scattered around in various denominations. Hershel noticed at least five £1 coins, three 50p and two 20p, which Phoenix seemed more than happy to claim for himself.

Hershel would have stopped him if that strange sensation of eyes on his head hadn’t grown even stronger. He checked behind him again, but still couldn’t see anybody watching them.

“I think some idiot kids must’ve been throwing coins at the…” Phoenix started.

He trailed off, and Hershel realised it was because he’d finally noticed his face.

“You okay, Hershel?” he asked.

“Perfectly alright,” Hershel lied. “Why do you ask?”

He looked down when he felt someone tugging on the side of his coat.

“Uncle Hershel,” said Trucy, “did you forget I’m super good at telling when people are lying?”

Hershel swallowed.

“Yes, I did,” he admitted.

“You keep looking around like you think someone’s following us!” Trucy pointed out. “What gives?”

“It’s just a…” Hershel cleared his throat. “I’m sure it’s nothing.”

A large sign nearby caught his eye. One informing the public about the significance of the tank it had been mounted beside.

“Look,” Hershel said to change the subject. “This is the tank that was in Harry Potter. It’s not Nagini, but there’s certainly a snake in there!”

Sure enough, Trucy followed her father in their mad dash to the tank.

“Whoa…” Phoenix sighed at the sight of the reptile basking in the light from its heat lamp.

“That’s so _cool!_ ” cooed Trucy.

Hershel drew up beside them, admiring the serpent just like they were. It was a rather lovely little thing, he had to admit. Its body was a rich shade of silvery grey, growing lighter towards its underbelly, and when it flickered its tongue in and out, a glimpse was all they needed to see that tongue was a deep, shimmering shade of black.

“I’m quite surprised that neither of you are afraid,” Hershel commented. “Do snakes not frighten you? Either of you?”

“Why would they?” asked Trucy. “Snakes are cute! They’re like big, long, floppy tails with little puppy faces!”

“I used to be scared of snakes,” said Phoenix, “but then I defended a client who worked in a zoo like this one, and she brought a Burmese python into court to prove how she couldn’t have set it to bite someone. Hershel, have you ever pet a snake before?”

The question hit Hershel like a slap in the face.

“Pet… a snake?” he asked to confirm whether he had heard correctly. “In the same way that one would pet a dog?”

“I know it seems freaky,” said Phoenix, smiling at the pretty little reptile in the tank, “but they’re _really_ smooth.”

Hershel looked back at the snake again. He had to admit to himself that it was cute, just as Trucy said. Its big, dark eyes and little dog-like snout were enough to fill him with a desire to stroke its head, perhaps feel that smoothness Phoenix had mentioned.

But then he read the placard informing viewers what kind of snake this was.

“Ah,” he said. “This one appears to be a black mamba. Perhaps the deadliest of all the snakes this world has to offer, I’m afraid.”

“Oooh!” Trucy cooed in amazement.

Phoenix straightened up.

“Okay, I don’t want to pet this one,” he said.

Hershel laughed at his abrupt change of mind.

“What’s the matter?” he asked with a smile. “Are you afraid you couldn’t convince it to leave you alone?”

“Well, unlike Luke,” said Phoenix, “I don’t speak… animal!”

Hershel’s eyes fell upon the large sign again, and an odd thought crept into his mind.

“Now that’s got me wondering,” he said, stroking his chin as he processed the notion. “Is there any chance Luke could be considered…”

Darn, he’d forgotten.

“What do they call the reptilian language?” he asked. “Parcel-string? Parse… um…”

“It’s PARSELTONGUE!”

Hershel didn’t even have time to process the shout before his hat was shoved down over his eyes, and he yelped in shock and stumbled to maintain his balance.

“The hell?!” he heard Phoenix shout. “Who are _you?_ ”

Once he was properly standing again, Hershel lifted his hat back up.

And he was immediately greeted by dark eyes twinkling in mischief and a familiar goofy smirk.

“What the-” He could scarcely believe his eyes. “Randall?!”

“Good afternoon, Hershel!” Randall Ascot gave the Professor a friendly little wave. “Long time no see, old chum!”

So was _that_ the source of the strange sensation Hershel had felt?

“Randall, have you been spying on us all morning?!” he demanded.

“Waiting for the perfect moment to make my grand entrance?” Randall asked, still wearing that smug smile. “Yes, as a matter of fact, I have. You certainly didn’t make it easy for me, you know that?”

“W-well…” Hershel scrambled through his thoughts for what he could say. “Most people would just approach and say hello!”

Randall laughed and hooked an arm around his shoulders.

“Hershel,” he said, “you and I have _never_ been ‘most people’ and I would have thought you’d noticed that by now!”

Hershel rolled his eyes.

“Yes, I suppose I can’t argue with that,” he groaned.

Randall gave him a gigantic, satisfied grin.

“Uh, Hershel?” Phoenix was staring at them both in bemusement with Trucy defensively clutching his hand. “You think you could tell me who the crazy guy is?”

“Oh, of course!” Hershel suddenly remembered the lack of introduction. “Phoenix, Trucy, this is my old friend, Randall Ascot. We’ve known one-another since we were Luke’s age.”

“Aw, come on, Hershel!” Randall hugged Hershel into his shoulder. “We’ve been friends for _far_ longer than that!”

Hershel tried to straighten his hat.

“Randall,” he said, “this is my good friend, Mr Phoenix Wright. And his young daughter Trucy.”

“Hi!” Trucy gave Randall a happy little wave as Phoenix stepped forward.

“Hershel got to meet one of my old school friends,” he said, offering out his hand, “so I guess it’s only fair I get to meet one of his.”

Randall gave his hand an enthusiastic shake.

“I assure you we’re _far_ closer than that!” he said happily. “But rest soundly in the knowledge that any friend of Hershel’s is a friend of mine!”

He leaned back and hugged Hershel into his shoulder again, and Hershel struggled to hold his hat to his head.

“So Hershel,” he said in a façade of privacy, “is this the man who kept you so busy last week that you couldn’t answer any of my calls?”

“Well-” Hershel started.

Randall eyed Phoenix with a coy smirk.

“Just what have you been so occupied with that could involve a tall, dark and handsome American?”

Phoenix’s eyes widened in horror.

“What?!” he spluttered.

“Randall, please,” Hershel hissed, “there is a _child_ present.”

“Daddy, why did you turn so red?” Trucy asked innocently.

Phoenix cleared his throat.

“I’ll tell you when you’re older,” he replied.

Laughing at his own joke, Randall finally released Hershel from his grasp.

“Say,” he suddenly said, “have any of you had lunch yet?”

He clapped his hands together.

“If not, then please allow me to treat you!” he proclaimed. “Think of it as a gift from an old friend who just wants to catch up.”

It suddenly occurred to Hershel that they hadn’t eaten since breakfast and had spent the entire morning wandering around the zoo without any stops to rest their feet.

“That…” he adjusted his hat again. “…that sounds lovely. Thank you, Randall.”

“And of course,” Randall went on, “your boyfriend and his daughter are welcome to come with us!”

“Boyfriend?!” Phoenix’s face flushed red as a pomegranate.

“Dad,” Trucy piped up, “what were you and Uncle Hershel talking about after I went to bed last night?!”

Hershel smiled and shook his head with a sigh.

“Never change, Randall,” he said.

Randall gave him a wink and another grin.

“I wasn’t planning to,” he replied.

* * *

Once again, Hershel thanked his lucky stars that they were out of tourist season. Had they come here in the summer, the restaurant would have been packed to bursting with chattering families and overwhelming noise that would blast him into sensory overload in ten seconds flat. As it was, the dining room was almost totally empty, so it took only a matter of seconds to find a table for four where they could sit and eat and talk.

In spite of all of Hershel’s attempts, Randall insisted on paying for everything they bought, even the tea that they enjoyed with their food. Hershel kept things simple with a slice of cheese and bacon quiche while Phoenix and Trucy shared a big croque monsieur. Randall, meanwhile, selected a towering slice of cheesecake topped with strawberries.

Then again, Hershel had expected nothing less. This was Randall Ascot. It would have been strange if he _hadn’t_ filled his belly with far too many sweets.

“So you two are here until Friday, are you?” the redhead asked as he speared a strawberry with his fork. “Getting a guided tour of London with the great Professor Layton would be many people’s dream come true, so I hope you’re both savouring it!”

“Trust me,” Phoenix replied with a smile. “We are.”

“We went to the Globe Theatre on Monday!” Trucy bounced up and down in her seat. “Uncle Hershel lifted me onto his shoulders so I could see!”

“His shoulders?” Randall turned to Hershel with a stare of amazement. “Hershel, did you really?!”

“It’s a standing crowd, Randall,” Hershel reminded him, “and I’m afraid that of the three of us, young Trucy is easily the shortest.”

Randall nodded in understanding.

“Have you been on the London Eye yet?” he asked. “Not to be presumptuous, but I can only expect an American wouldn’t consider their holiday complete until after they’d ridden on the London Eye.”

Phoenix frowned.

“Then I guess Trucy’s will be complete while mine isn’t,” he commented.

“Ah,” said Randall. “Not a fan of heights? Not to worry, neither am I.”

Yet again, Hershel had to remind himself that a gentleman didn’t stare.

Since when was Randall afraid of heights?

Then again, when he considered everything that had happened to Randall prior to the peaceful life he now got to enjoy, it wasn’t too surprising that he might want to avoid the possibility of falling at every possible opportunity.

And then again, that raised another question…

“Randall,” Hershel said, “do forgive me for being forward, but I can’t help wondering what on earth _you_ are doing here. Is all not well in Monte d’Or? I do hope the Ledore household is still holding steady.”

Randall gave him another cheerful smirk.

“Have no fear, my friend,” he replied. “Monte d’Or still stands tall and proud above the desert and Angela, Henry and I are closer and stronger than ever before.”

He plopped another forkful of cheesecake into his mouth.

“It’s by their request that I happen to be here,” he spoke with his mouth full, “as Henry is considering giving the city a zoo.”

He swallowed before Hershel had a chance to chastise him for talking while eating.

“I suppose you could say…”

He glanced around the restaurant and leaned in close.

“…I’m scoping out the competition,” he whispered conspiratorially.

Hershel blinked at him in confusion.

“…or,” he said, not bothering to whisper, “you could just be investigating to see what goes into the construction and working of a zoo.”

Randall shrugged.

“That too, I suppose,” he said before eating another strawberry.

Hershel rolled his eyes. What a drama queen.

“I don’t think it’s just putting animals on display for tourists to gawk at,” Phoenix pointed out while Trucy took a big bite of her half of their sandwich. “They do conservation work too, right? Helping endangered animals not be endangered anymore. Stuff like that.”

“Hmm, yes.” Randall cradled his chin in thought. “That’s a factor to consider.”

He waved his hand in a distinctly dismissive fashion.

“Not to worry,” he added. “I’m sure Henry would be more than eager to work towards preserving some of the creatures we’ve come across in the Akbadain ruins. Last month I found a lizard that glows in the dark!”

“Do you have pictures?!” Trucy squeaked.

“No, and I’m devastated that I don’t!” Randall replied. “The end of its tail is broad and thick to the point that it looks like it has two heads! It even had markings that look like big shiny eyes!”

“Dang,” Phoenix said with a smile. “That’s way cooler than just a snake.”

“A two-headed lizard would be so cool if I could use it in a performance…” Trucy said thoughtfully.

“It’s definitely more interesting than a rabbit!” Randall agreed. “Wouldn’t you say, Hershel?”

Hershel swallowed his mouthful of tea.

“I’d say you can’t beat the classics, Randall,” he said, “although there isn’t anything wrong with spicing things up a little.”

“Oh! That reminds me!” Randall leaned closer to the American pair. “Have you lot been to the butterfly house yet?”

Trucy gasped in amazement.

“No, we haven’t!” she replied with an excited grin. “Can we? Uncle Hershel, can we?!”

“We _have_ to!” Randall told her. “Have you ever seen how gigantic an atlas moth is?”

“However large you think a moth could be, my friends,” Hershel spoke up, “I promise you that an atlas moth is so, _so_ much larger. Not only that, but butterflies in captivity tend to be far tamer and more social than those you would find in the wild.”

“You’re going to get _covered_ in butterflies!” Randall added.

“Oh my god, that sounds amazing,” Phoenix muttered.

“And can we see the penguins after that?” asked Trucy. “Please?”

“I see no reason why not,” Hershel told her. “After all, penguins are terribly adorable.”

Randall sighed and leaned his head on his hand.

“I assume you three have heard that gaggle of American teenagers roaming around the place?” he asked glumly, but panicked when he noticed Phoenix and Trucy again. “N-no offence!”

“None taken,” Phoenix replied with a shrug.

“They do seem to be very excited,” said Hershel.

Randall took a sip from his tea.

“I overheard them talking about going to see the tigers and the Australian wildlife exhibit after lunch,” he explained, “and that’s on the other side of the zoo. So yes, young Trucy. We can _absolutely_ see the penguins after we’ve drowned ourselves in butterflies.”

“Yes!” Trucy pumped her fists in triumph.

Hershel pulled the map out of his pocket.

“And after that…” He pressed it flat on the table. “…shall we see the lions? Perhaps by the time we’re done with them and the monkeys, the students will have moved on.”

“Hey, Trucy,” Phoenix said while nudging Trucy in the shoulder. “How about performing for the monkeys like you did for those gorillas?”

Trucy gasped in delight again while Randall leaned into Hershel to look at the map.

“Ooh, it looks like there’s a petting farm or something near the monkeys,” he said, “but I don’t think they’re open at this time of year.”

“I really want to see the tigers before we go,” said Phoenix. “I want to see what a _real_ tiger looks like instead of some wannabe mobster poser.”

Randall frowned at him in bafflement.

“A mobster… tiger?” he asked slowly.

“Long story,” said Phoenix, rolling his eyes.

He suddenly stared at his daughter.

“Oh, Truce.” He snatched up a napkin from the middle of the table. “You’ve got a little bit of schmutz right there-”

“Where?” asked Trucy.

“Hang on, let me…”

Phoenix wiped her cheek with a napkin.

“There you go.” He patted on her head with a smile.

“Thanks, Daddy!” Trucy replied.

“Awwwww.” Randall grinned at the sight of them.

“Randall?” Hershel frowned at him in confusion.

“What?” asked Randall. “They’re so sweet! I can only wish my father had been _half_ as loving as Mr Wright obviously is!”

“You say that,” said Phoenix, “but I came to Britain on vacation with my daughter and I didn’t bring a camera with me. Trucy’s going to look adorable covered in butterflies and I won’t be able to capture that on film!”

Randall reached across the table and patted on his arm.

“We all make mistakes, my friend,” he said. “I’m sure you’ll have plenty more beautiful memories to come.”

Phoenix brightened up and ruffled his daughter’s hair.

“I’m sure I do,” he replied while Trucy giggled under his hand.

Hershel couldn’t help smiling at the sight.

He had to agree with Randall on this point. Phoenix truly was a wonderful father, and Trucy was an incredibly lucky little girl.

So lucky, he thought, to share her life with such an incredible person.

He was definitely going to have to savour their time together while it lasted.

* * *

The butterfly house was an immense greenhouse stacked to the gills with tropical plant life, so warm inside in contrast to the winter that Hershel needed to open his coat to keep from getting too sweaty. The moment he did, no less than seven butterflies fluttered down to his exposed shirt, which Randall was happy to point out was because it was bright orange, and he pointed to the butterflies on his own scarf as proof.

And then he pointed at Phoenix’s pocket, which still had a part of his brilliant cyan hat hanging out and was quickly attracting butterflies. As Phoenix realised what was happening, Hershel noticed a blue morpho, a cabbage white, a monarch, a swallowtail and two others that he couldn’t identify. When Trucy reached out to them, three of them crawled onto her hand, and she looked up at her father with a gasp of joy. Phoenix himself clasped his hands to his mouth as four others settled in her hair, his eyes watering in amazement at the sight.

Hershel couldn’t blame him. His sweet little daughter looked utterly… somehow ‘precious’ was the only word that seemed appropriate.

When they had somehow managed to prise themselves out of the butterfly house, Randall led the way to the nearby penguin beach. The moment the glass barrier holding back their pool came into view, Trucy hurried over to it and pressed her face to the window, and Hershel couldn’t help but laugh as Phoenix struggled to keep up with the exuberant ten-year-old. When he _did_ catch up to her, he picked her up by the sides so that she could properly see over the top of the water, and Hershel reached the window just in time to hear her gasp in delight.

Randall pointed out what she had seen, and Hershel realised that penguins were far smaller than he had expected. He’d thought that even the little breeds would at least be large enough to reach his waist, but the ones he saw right now would surely only come up to his knees. When he brought this up, Randall was happy to inform him that even emperor penguins, the largest breed, were only around a metre tall at most.

As they watched, one of the birds _plopped_ out of the water not far away just to dive back in, and Phoenix commented that they must be loving the winter chill. Sure, it wasn’t as cold as their native Antarctica, but it was obvious that they found it delightfully freezing.

And then he speculated about throwing Edgeworth into the pool, which Hershel took as the sign to move on.

They found the lion enclosure right after its occupants had apparently had their lunch, as one of the majestic creatures was bounding around the mini savanna and two were lazily flopped in the grass near the viewing window. This time it was Randall who picked up Trucy so that she could see, and they watched in delighted surprise as another massive furry beast plodded over to where its friend was lying and flopped unceremoniously on top of its body, its back pressed against the glass. Hershel was happy to point out to Phoenix that this was behaviour he was familiar with: he’d seen a cat do exactly the same thing about Luke, and it was apparently a feline behaviour that only happened when said feline felt extremely comfortable.

Phoenix’s grin was beautiful. No matter how massive they were, he commented, a cat was still a cat.

The lioness who had been galloping around the enclosure leapt over to the window and stared right at them, and poor Randall recoiled so suddenly that he dropped Trucy in shock. Thank goodness she landed on her feet, Hershel considered, or else Phoenix would likely have some… _choice_ words to share. Trucy, however, pulled a thin golden rod from somewhere under her cloak and waved it around in the air, and the lioness’ huge furry face followed its every movement. Yet again, a cat was still a cat. Randall even mentioned that he wished he had a laser pointer to see how they would react.

It almost hurt to leave the lions behind, but Hershel could see his friends’ faces light up when they saw that rather than just cages or enclosures they had to walk past, the monkeys lived in a huge aviary that they got to walk through. Randall warned them not to touch the squirrel monkeys, as apparently the yellow stains on their arms were from them rubbing themselves with urine, which caused Phoenix and Trucy’s faces to screw up in disgust. Hershel had been about to make a comment about the difference in hygiene when something suddenly landed on his hat, pressing it down over his eyes and blinding him and freezing him in place.

Through the fabric squeezed around his ears, he could hear Randall and Phoenix laughing at him, stopped only by Trucy apparently reading an informational sign and telling him that it was a red titi monkey which had landed on his head. When the weight disappeared after what felt like an eternity, Hershel yanked his hat back into position and saw a deep reddish-brown and extraordinarily fluffy creature watching him from a nearby branch. As revenge for being laughed at, he told Randall that it looked like him, which earned him a glare of displeasure and a giggle from Trucy.

As they neared the exit, Phoenix found even more coins scattered all over the ground, ranging in denomination from 20p to £2. They must have been stolen from visitors, Hershel realised, and he hoped that none of the squirrel monkeys had touched them and dirtied them (Phoenix suggested washing them just in case). Near the gate sat another monkey, its white and black patterning reminiscent of a skunk, but the puffy black that sat on top of its head rather reminded Hershel of a teacher he and Randall had learned under when they lived in Stansbury. A Colombo monkey, they read on the nearby placard, and Hershel thanked it for its time before they left.

After a break to use the toilets, which Phoenix stated was also an opportunity to get those coins clean, they decided to pay a visit to the Outback exhibit, tucked away in the corner of the zoo.

“Here’s hoping those American hooligans have moved on by now,” Randall said as they passed the tigers (with a promise to Phoenix that they could visit them later).

Hershel checked the map again to make sure they were in the right place.

“I’m really quite curious to see what manner of wildlife is here,” he commented. “Of all the countries I’ve visited as part of my work, I’m afraid Australia isn’t one of them.”

“Really, Hershel?” asked Randall. “Of all the great and historical countries in the world, you haven’t been to Australia? Home of the oldest human civilisation ever known, _Australia?!_ ”

Hershel gave him a sad look as he repocketed the map.

“I don’t think that’s a bad thing,” said Phoenix, and Hershel noticed him tightening his grip on Trucy’s hand. “That place is goddamn scary.”

“Yeah, aren’t _all_ of the snakes and spiders super poisonous and mean?” asked Trucy.

“Oh, absolutely!” Randall happily replied. “The Sydney funnel-web is the most venomous spider on this entire planet and they are _mean_ little bastards! Most spiders would scarper at the sight of you, but a funnel-web will run across the room just to bite you! And don’t even get me started on brown snakes or diamond heads or-”

“Randall,” Hershel had to interject, “this is a _child_ you’re speaking to.”

Randall shut his mouth and flushed in embarrassment.

“I don’t want to go to Australia anymore,” Trucy said flatly.

“Don’t worry,” said Phoenix. “I couldn’t afford to pay for it if you did.”

Hershel took a breath to make a reply.

But before he could work out what he was going to say, he noticed something… odd.

“Hello, what’s going on here?” he wondered aloud.

A teenage boy with an explosion of black hair spiked around a visor was leaning over the railing, staring down into the Outback enclosure. Hershel could just about see a small bandage over his nose as he approached, and picked up on the distinct and unmistakable sound of an American accent.

Ah, so this was one of those students.

“-a whole month of detention, you idiot!” he could be heard shouting.

“It’s a risk I’m willing to take, Clay!” replied a similarly accented voice from somewhere nearby. “You KNOW I can’t replace this thing!”

“Why couldn’t you just wait for a zookeeper?!” demanded the leaning boy.

“They’re still on their lunch break!” was the insistent response.

This teenager was shouting at his friend who, for whatever reason, had decided to enter the enclosure.

Cold dread started to pool in the pit of Hershel’s stomach.

“I say!” Randall closed the distance between himself and the wild-haired teen. “What in the world is going on?”

The student apparently named Clay looked up at him with a sigh.

“My idiot friend dropped his bracelet in the enclosure,” he explained, “and he was stupid enough to jump the railing to get it back!”

Hershel’s eyes flew to the ground visible through the waist-high chain link fence. His mind raced to work out what the distance likely was between that ground and the top of the fence, assuming the elevation was consistent right up the edge, the idea that a teenage boy could make the drop without getting hurt…

“…but it has to be an eight-foot drop from the…” he realised, and he sprinted to the fence to look down. “Are you alright down there?”

The other American student was petite and brown-haired, and he looked up right as he finished slotting a shining golden bracelet onto his left wrist.

“I’m fine!” he angrily replied. “How many times do I have to tell people?! I’m FINE!”

Hershel blew out a sigh of relief, and he felt his taller friend drawing up beside him.

“I don’t think he’ll be able to climb back out,” Phoenix remarked, and he pointed down at the depth of the concrete that separated the fence from the enclosure’s ground. “Look how steep that ledge is. You’d need a ladder. Or a stepladder, at least!”

“Polly, you _moron!_ ” Clay shouted down at his friend. “We’re both going to be suspended at this rate!”

“…oh dear.”

The sound of Randall’s voice being so unnaturally faint caught Hershel’s attention and strengthened the dread in his stomach. He looked up and found the redhead staring into the bushes at the far side of the enclosure, his dark eyes wide and sweat beading on his forehead.

“What?” asked Trucy. “What’s the ‘oh dear’ for?”

“Look over there.” Randall pointed into the trees. “Hershel, do you see what I see?”

Hershel squinted at the faraway plant life.

He didn’t have to struggle to see for long. A mass of black stepped out of the leaves, easily visible by the vivid blue that reached up its neck and over its head, and he could just about make out its gaze turning to where they were all gathered.

Looking closer, focusing harder, his skin prickled with an electric flood of terror. Even from this distance, he could see the creature’s beady little eyes glinting in the weak daylight.

“Oh no,” he muttered. “We have to get him out.”

“Why?” asked Phoenix. “What’s wrong? That just looks like some kind of big blue turkey.”

“You fool, that’s a cassowary!” cried Randall. “Have you no idea what a cassowary is capable of?!”

Phoenix innocently shook his head, and Hershel honestly envied his ignorance.

“You may know that birds are descended from dinosaurs,” he explained. “Cassowaries are among those who haven’t forgotten that fact.”

“They’re the closest you’ll get to meeting a real-life velociraptor!” shouted the desperate Randall. “If someone doesn’t help that kid, it could kill him!”

“What’s going on up there?” called the kid in the enclosure.

“Polly, stay where you are!” yelled Clay. “Don’t make any sudden movements!”

“Uh, Dad?” Trucy’s face was pressed against the fence. “It’s coming this way!”

“That settles it.”

Hershel didn’t see what Randall was talking about until the redhead had already swung one leg over the railing.

“Hershel,” he said. “Hold onto me.”

“What’re you-?!” Hershel spluttered.

“I’m going to help him get out before that monster can disembowel him!” Randall settled both feet on the concrete on the other side of the fence. “Hershel, hold onto my hand!”

“Randall-!”

Hershel seized Randall’s hand just in time for his friend to release his grip. He fell backwards into the enclosure, supported only by Hershel’s grip. Hershel’s body was yanked forward with the force and his chest was pressed into the railing, squeezing every last breath out of his body. Randall took his feet off the concrete and swung free, supported only by the wrist.

“Hershel, I think your friend is crazy!” cried Phoenix.

Hershel dug his feet into the tiny gap between the floor and the fence and tried to take a breath.

“I…” he choked. “…had noticed…”

“Uh…” he heard ‘Polly’ say, “…what is _that_ thing?!”

“It’ll kill you if you piss it off!” shouted Randall, and Hershel could barely see him reaching down for the student. “Take my hand!”

“Agh-” Hershel’s chest was screaming. “You’re too heavy!”

He felt his hat get pulled from his head.

“Truce, hold Uncle Hershel’s hat for him!” he heard Phoenix say.

“Thank you-!” Hershel gasped.

“Oh jeez, that’s _freaky!_ ” shouted the teen.

The pressure against Hershel’s chest got even stronger. His arms strained as he struggled to keep hold of Randall, who now supported the boy’s weight. He couldn’t keep his eyes open anymore.

“Okay, hang on!” he heard Randall shout.

“Rand- AGH!”

The added weight pulled Hershel’s feet from under the fence. He toppled over the railing.

“Hershel!” cried Phoenix.

His arm latched around Hershel’s chest and caught him before he could fall over the fence. Now it was his stomach pressed into the railing. His body was almost bent double. He still couldn’t draw even an inkling of breath.

“Are you alright up there?” Randall was looking up at him, eyes still wide in fear. The student was swinging from his hand, feet scrabbling on the concrete wall, but he couldn’t drown out the unmistakable clawing of dirt as the cassowary approached.

“Hurry, it’s coming!” shouted Clay.

“I’m holding on as tight as I can!” yelled the boy.

“Hershel, pull us up!” called Randall.

Phoenix’s arm may have been more forgiving than the railing, but Hershel’s chest still burned from the pressure and the railing shoved against his stomach was crushing his lungs.

“…heavy…” he choked.

Grunting with effort, Phoenix pulled him backwards over the fence and Hershel was back to being forced against it. His shoulders felt like they could dislocate at any moment. His chest screamed for air. Black splotches were swelling in his vision. He closed his eyes again. His shoes slipped on the ground as he struggled for a grip.

Teeth gritted in effort, he only barely felt Phoenix’s arms wrap around his body and pull him back. He felt the top of the fence slide down to his wrists.

“I’ve got it-” he heard Randall say.

He cracked an eye open. He saw Randall pressed flush against the fence.

He couldn’t hold on any longer.

His grip failed and he fell backwards, taking Phoenix down with him to the ground and landing in his lap.

“Polly, take my hand!” said the nearby Clay.

Hershel could hardly focus on anybody’s voice. He leaned back into Phoenix’s shoulder and gasped for breath, chest heaving, and pressed his hands against his burning ribs and stomach.

“Hershel, are you alright?”

He eased an eye open and saw Randall kneeling in front of him, the black spots fading from his eyesight. The small teenager was slumped beside the fence, his black-haired friend checking over him for injuries.

“…my…” Hershel gasped. “…my chest…”

“He got pressed real hard into the railing!” cried Trucy.

“Just breathe, okay?” He felt Phoenix rubbing his upper arm and hugging his shoulder. “Maybe we can stop by first aid and see if you cracked a rib!”

Hershel took a deep breath, trying to soothe his aching torso. He tried to wipe the sweat away from his forehead, but his hands were trembling far too much.

“I…” He let his hand slump onto Phoenix’s leg beside him, his other arm still rested across his stomach. “…I think I’ll be alright…”

He felt his abdomen swell and shrink with his breath. He had to do what Phoenix said. Breathe. Just _breathe._ Breathe, calm down and reassure himself that everything was fine, nobody was hurt, and he was still alive and alright.

His vision focused on the teenagers. They were picking themselves up beside the fence.

“Apollo, what were you thinking?!” demanded Clay, shaking his friend by the shoulders. “That thing down there could’ve killed you! Look!” He pointed into the enclosure. “Look at those claws on its feet!”

The brown-haired boy looked back down over the railing.

“Oh man…” he muttered, and he looked over at Randall. “Thanks for helping us out!”

Before Hershel could move a finger, Randall had sprung to his feet.

“You can thank us by getting back to your class and NOT getting yourself into any more trouble!” he shouted. “I have no idea what was so important to you that you’d go up against a cassowary to get it back, but NOTHING is worth letting your friend see you in so much danger!”

Hershel couldn’t see the expression on Randall’s face, but the short teen was shrinking back in shame.

“…I’m sorry…” he said weakly.

His friend sighed.

“Come on, man.” He patted the student on the shoulder. “Mr Miranda’s going to kill us if we don’t get back to him soon.”

“Yeah, okay,” the shorter boy said, and he and Clay turned to leave. “Thanks again!”

“Are you sure you’re okay? Nothing down there bit you?”

“Clay, I told you! I’m FINE!”

That was the last Hershel saw of them. The next time he opened his eyes, they were both gone.

“Man, what a pair of idiots!” Trucy put a hand on her hip in annoyance.

Hershel felt an arm wrap around his chest, a pressure far gentler than the unyielding railing, and he allowed himself to be lifted back to his feet.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” asked Randall.

“Here!” said Trucy, holding up the top hat.

Hershel gratefully accepted it and repositioned it on his head.

“Thank you…” he sighed. “Don’t worry about me, I’m alright…”

He held his stomach again and tried to rub the ache away.

“I don’t think anything’s broken,” he said.

“Whoever sees what happened on the security footage is probably going to sell it to a news site,” Phoenix remarked, still holding Hershel stable by the shoulders. “I hope you guys are ready to go viral.”

“At this point,” Hershel said, “I think I’d rather go and sit down on a bench.”

“Capital idea,” said Randall. “Perhaps after we’ve had some time to decompress, we can say hello to the tigers like Mr Wright suggested.”

“Ooh, yes!” Trucy piped up. “I’ve heard tigers are _huge!_ ”

Hershel managed a weak smile, and he leaned into the warmth of Phoenix’s body as they set out in search of a place to sit and recuperate.

* * *

Trucy bounced as though she was walking on the moon when she ran over to the viewing window looking into the tiger enclosure, and Phoenix was forced to break into a sprint to keep up. Thank goodness Hershel’s friend had been there to support him, or else the poor guy might have collapsed. Sure, he claimed he was alright, but it was obvious he was still in a lot of pain.

Phoenix and his daughter stared through the window and scanned over the greenery in search of the cats they were after, and Phoenix was just about to give up and move on when a _massive_ beast walked casually across the window right in front of him. He snatched up Trucy in shock, terrifying the life out of the poor kid, and sighed in relief when he remembered the thick glass separating them from certain stripy death. By the time Hershel and Randall caught up, the tiger had paused and was eyeing them in obvious curiosity.

It was so, _so_ much bigger than Phoenix had expected. Somehow the only thing he could think of to compare it to was a bed. It was a big, furry, orange and black _bed_ , watching them and flicking ears the size of his fists, its face so fluffy that it looked almost perfectly round. Even though he knew it could tear him to shreds as easily as look at him, Phoenix almost wanted to pet its gigantic head.

As they watched, it flopped to the ground and rolled onto its back, paws in the air, staring right at them, and Trucy almost screamed from what an adorable sight it was. Hershel, meanwhile, was somewhat confused and rather annoyed when Randall pointed out that his clothing was exactly the same colour as this cute yet gigantic cat.

And as a result, they followed his desires next for which animals to visit.

Which, to Phoenix’s shock and horror, turned out to be the bug house.

At the very least, Randall seemed to agree with him on how… undesirable a visit to such a place would be, but neither of them dared to argue with Hershel on this count, considering what had happened to him not two hours prior. With that in mind, while Hershel and Trucy admired the various “beautiful” scorpions, spiders and tarantulas on display, Phoenix and this hot-blooded redhead chose instead to pay close attention to a selection of beetles and stick insects.

Phoenix found himself quite glad that Randall was with him for this. The man had eyes like a goddamn hawk. He took mere moments to locate the bugs that had camouflaged themselves into their aquariums. Leaves and twigs with legs and feelers and beady little eyes. He even managed to find a caterpillar laid so flush against a leaf that it was almost indistinguishable from that leaf’s veins, while behind them, Hershel and Trucy talked about big hairy legs and gigantic fangs and the sound of their conversation curdled Phoenix’s blood.

Still, he couldn’t help being impressed by Randall. Small wonder Hershel could be friends with a man so intelligent and perceptive, although with how easily he spotted those bugs, Phoenix couldn’t help wondering if his glasses were even necessary.

He only risked one glance over his shoulder, and the sight of a long hairy leg made that glance _very_ quick.

When they left the bug house, Randall was stretching and Trucy yawned wide and loud, which Phoenix and Hershel both took as their sign that it was time for the day to end. Feet sore and bodies exhausted, they found their way back through the zoo to the exit which, of course, was via the gift shop. Phoenix counted up all the coins he’d collected as he walked and found that he’d gained a full £11. He resisted the urge to pump his fist in triumph at the realisation that for once in his life, for perhaps the first time _ever_ , he would be able to spend money for his own sake rather than someone else’s.

But he was still cautious enough to know he shouldn’t spend £20 on a cuddly fennec fox, adorable as it was. Too bad. It would’ve been nice to have a soft companion that he could potentially smuggle to work with him to comfort his failing efforts to play the piano or praise his victories at poker, but it was unlikely his boss would allow him to do that anyway.

So instead, remembering how fun this day had been – idiot teenage rescue notwithstanding – he chose a plushie tiger for Trucy and an African hunting dog that matched Hershel’s colouration.

The look on his face when presented with that cuddly little puppy caused Phoenix’s heart to skip a beat.

Hershel himself didn’t seem to buy a thing. Randall, meanwhile, chose a long and fuzzy Komodo dragon and a delightfully squishy snake to take home for his ‘friends’ as souvenirs. He marched out of the shop with a skip in his step when they finally drummed up the courage to leave, with Trucy hugging her tiger and Hershel clutching his cuddly dog, while Phoenix felt like a piece of his heart had been left behind with those cute little fennec foxes.

“Well,” Randall said happily, “I can safely say this little investigation of mine has been a roaring success!”

Phoenix stifled a snort of laughter.

“He says as he strides proudly out of the gift shop,” he commented, “carrying a 2ft long plushie Komodo dragon and a plushie snake wrapped around his neck like a scarf.”

“And you have any objections to that?” Randall asked with a glint in his eye.

“Nope,” Phoenix replied. “I just wish I could see your friend’s reactions to what you’ve got for them.”

It was incredible how much colder it was outside the zoo, he quickly realised. The sun was at least halfway to setting already, and what little sky was visible between the streaks of grey cloud was a milky shade of gold. The shadows they cast on the pavement were abnormally stretched and, once again, the air felt somehow damp.

Movement in the corner of his eye drew his gaze sideways, and he realised it was Hershel hugging the cuddly dog to his chest.

“You didn’t need to spend money on me, you know,” he said.

“I know,” Phoenix replied, “but I wanted to.”

A faint blush spread across Hershel’s cheeks as he looked down at his gift.

“Thank you,” he said quietly.

Phoenix’s heart skipped a beat again.

Good. _Lord._

“Are you alright down there, Trucy?” Hershel asked with a smile, thankfully not noticing that Phoenix was staring.

Trucy cuddled her tiger to her cheek.

“It’s so soft!” she responded.

“You sure you wanted the tiger?” Phoenix asked her. “And not a hammerhead shark?”

“You couldn’t afford the shark!” Trucy reminded him. “And besides, the tiger’s cuter!”

“I don’t know about that,” said Hershel. “The baby penguin was extremely cute as well, remember?”

“I’m surprised you didn’t buy anything, Hershel,” said Randall. “How are you going to sleep if you don’t have something to cuddle with?”

Phoenix clapped a hand to his mouth in alarm. World famous and well-renowned Professor Hershel Layton was a _sleep cuddler?!_

“What are you talking about?” Hershel replied. “Look at this adorable little dog Phoenix bought for me!”

Taking a deep breath, Phoenix pulled himself together.

“It’s the least I could do after you helped make our vacation so awesome,” he pointed out. “Apart from stopping you getting crushed against a fence, of course.”

“Or worse, falling in!” Trucy piped up.

Randall smiled at them over his shoulder.

“Now I wish I could’ve bought a cuddly cassowary!” he chuckled.

Hershel winced dramatically and clutched his chest while Phoenix and Trucy laughed at the idea. Phoenix could just picture the glittery silver fabric the manufacturer would use for the monster’s cute little disembowelling claws.

“Well, in any case,” said Randall, “it was certainly a pleasant surprise running into you here, Hershel. Do let me know if you run into any rib-based complications.”

“It’s fine, Randall,” Hershel said. “I’m only relieved that I didn’t drop you again.”

Randall gave him a grateful smile.

“And it was nice to meet you, Mr Wright,” he added. “You and your daughter take care!”

“Nice to meet you too, Mr Ascot,” said Phoenix.

“Thanks for making our day at the zoo so fun!” Trucy piped up.

The redhead spun on his heels, waved to them over his shoulder, then ran down the road and disappeared around the street corner.

He’d only known the guy for a few hours, Phoenix thought, but _what_ a few hours it had been.

Beside him, Hershel blew out a long, exhausted sigh.

“After all that excitement,” he said, “I think I’m about ready to go home.”

“Same here,” said Phoenix.

Trucy yawned again.

One hand on his hat, Hershel looked up at the winter sky, narrowing his eyes at the clouds darkening the sunset.

“Although by the looks of things,” he said, “perhaps I should have bought an umbrella.”

“Yikes.” Phoenix cringed at how dark and heavy those clouds looked. “We’d better hurry home before we get soaked!”

“I don’t want our plushies to get wet!” cried Trucy, and Phoenix swept her up into his arms so that she wouldn’t get left behind as they hurried to the car.

* * *

Almost as soon as Hershel had closed and locked his front door for the evening, the heavens opened. The rain outside was so heavy and thick that Phoenix could barely even see to the other side of the street.

Talk about the nick of time.

It wasn’t even very late in the evening, but all three of them were worn out from a full day wandering around the zoo and marvelling at the animals. It was clear that neither Phoenix nor Hershel were in the mood to cook another meal, so thank goodness they still had plenty of beef wellington and onion gravy to reheat.

Not that they minded all that much.

“Dang,” Phoenix said after swallowing a mouthful. “Pretty rare that something’s just as good reheated as it was when it was fresh.”

“You guys were right about mushrooms being so small I can’t chew them,” Trucy said happily. “I can’t feel them at all!”

Hershel smiled after taking a sip of his water.

“If it makes you feel better, young lady,” he said, “I had the same kind of aversion that you do when I was your age.”

“You did?!”

“Yes. For me, it was broccoli.”

“Broccoli?” Phoenix raised an eyebrow at him. “Why broccoli?”

Hershel frowned as he cut out a bite-sized piece of meat.

“My father wasn’t the best chef when it came to vegetables,” he explained, “and even when I was ten, he had yet to discover the concept of steaming. Whenever broccoli was included with our dinner, it was boiled to the point that it more closely resembled mushy peas.”

“Eurgh!” Trucy grimaced in horror.

“Precisely,” Hershel sighed. “I can tolerate properly prepared broccoli now that I’m older, but the sight and smell of it when overcooked still turns my stomach.”

Phoenix thought back to his own childhood. Those evenings when his mother had accidentally put the broccoli in the microwave for a few minutes too long. How it had become soft and yellow, disintegrating into paste at the slightest touch, and the _smell…_

Still, it hadn’t been the worst thing he’d had to eat.

“For me,” he said, “it was snow peas and runner beans. Not sure why, but they’re always really bitter and weird and rubbery on my teeth.”

He shuddered in disgust.

“And I believe Luke still has the same issue with sweetcorn,” said Hershel. “A conflict of taste and texture that he simply cannot abide.”

“Oh man,” groaned Trucy, “and the skins get stuck in your teeth! It’s so gross!”

Hershel gave her a small nod.

“He’s mentioned to me in the past,” he said, “that he hopes to need braces on his teeth someday, which would render him unable to acquiesce to his parent’s requests in terms of eating corn. To which I simply reply that he wouldn’t be able to eat apples anymore either.”

“He should consider himself lucky,” said Phoenix. “My friend Larry had braces all the way through high school and he did _not_ stop complaining for all four years of it! Do you want to know what the first thing he did once he had them removed was?”

Hershel gave him a nervous glance.

“Did he enjoy an apple?” he asked, although it was obvious he doubted the possibility.

Phoenix swallowed his mouthful.

“He poured a whole bunch of bubblegum into his mouth,” he explained as Hershel took another drink, “and blew a bubble twice the size of his head.”

Hershel choked and spat his water back into his cup.

“Didn’t you say it popped on him and fell all over his head?” asked Trucy.

“And I had to help him pull it off,” Phoenix went on, “and it got stuck in his hair, and his dad had to get an electric razor to buzz it all off…”

It was difficult not to laugh at the memory. The look on Larry’s face when he walked into school on the final day of the semester, his hair buzzed right down to the scalp, rubbing his stubble, and looking like he could cry at any second…

“Man, he was _not_ happy after that,” Phoenix said. “It took months for it all to grow back! He was still practically bald by the time we started college!”

“I’ll keep that in mind for if Luke decides to become a gum-chewer,” said Hershel.

Phoenix snorted.

“What can you do about it?” he asked with a smile. “The kid’s probably back in America by now?”

Hershel stroked his chin in thought.

“I heard tell that he and his parents had booked a ride on a cruise ship back to your side of the pond,” he said, “in which case, they’re likely somewhere in the northern vicinity of the Azores at this point.”

“So they won’t hit an iceberg?” asked Trucy.

“I should think not!” Hershel exclaimed. “An iceberg would never survive that close to the Equator.”

“Phew!” Trucy dramatically wiped her brow.

“’Phew’ is pretty much what I was thinking,” said Phoenix. “We don’t want a Titanic situation on our hands.”

Hershel gave him a slow nod of agreement.

“If you do hear of Luke taking up chewing gum,” he said, “do be sure to remind him of a gentleman’s manners, won’t you? A proper English gentleman should never take up such an uncouth habit.”

Phoenix snorted again.

“Not sure how much I could help,” he pointed out, “but I’ll do my best.”

His statement earned him a small, grateful smile.

“Thank you,” Hershel replied.

Phoenix couldn’t bear to look at him after that.

“Ooh!” Trucy bounced in her chair. “Luke told me we can be friends after we’ve both gone back! I’ll be able to keep talking to him!”

“Will you now?” asked Hershel. “I assume that you’re a good deal better-versed in matters of modern technology than I am. I haven’t sent a single email since 2004.”

“I’m pretty much the same,” Phoenix assured him. “Trucy’s eighteen years younger than me and she already knows way more about computers than I do.”

“Be proud, young lady.” Hershel ruffled Trucy’s hair and made her giggle. “You carry our hopes for a more technologically advanced future on your shoulders.”

“Wow, no pressure!” Trucy laughed.

Phoenix laughed too, if only because his daughter was so adorable that he couldn’t resist.

He almost didn’t want this vacation to end.

* * *

“You sure you’re okay?” Phoenix asked, tucking a lock of hair behind Trucy’s ear. “I know things got pretty hectic earlier.”

“Daddy, I’m fine!” Trucy insisted, thumping her fists on her quilt. “What you and Mr Ascot and Uncle Hershel did was really cool!”

Phoenix grinned nervously and avoided her gaze.

“I don’t know about _me_ being cool,” he replied. “All I did was keep Hershel from falling over the railing.”

“But that cassowary would’ve got all three of you if you hadn’t caught him!” Trucy insister. “Daddy, you saved Uncle Hershel and his friend from a modern-day dinosaur!”

A modern-day dinosaur, huh?

He’d honestly thought it just looked like a big blue and black turkey, but that Randall guy had compared it to a velociraptor and talked about disembowelment, and one of those kids had pointed out its claws…

“If what they said about cassowaries is accurate,” Phoenix said, “then I guess you’re right.”

Trucy leaned forward and hugged him.

“You’re my hero, Dad,” she said happily.

Phoenix cuddled her into his chest. She was so soft and warm that he almost didn’t want to let her go.

“And you’re _my_ hero, Trucy-Goosy,” he told her, and he gently laid her down on her bed. “Sleep tight, sweetie.”

Trucy yawned as he pulled her quilt up over her shoulder.

“Goodnight, Dad,” she said sleepily.

It was all Phoenix could do not to burst into tears at the sight of her.

He gave her one last pat on the head before he got up and headed for the door, and he closed that door as quietly as he could just in case she had already fallen asleep.

He had to take a moment to pause before heading down the stairs. Such a sweet and lovely little girl, so kind and friendly and utterly _adorable_ that he could hardly believe she even existed. He felt like the luckiest man in the world to be a father to someone so precious.

Then he noticed the stairs, remembered who was down there…

…and realised he might not be as lucky as he’d thought if he was having to share a house with someone like that – someone who could make him feel things he’d thought he wasn’t even allowed to anymore – who no doubt didn’t have any interest in him as anything other than a friend.

He took a deep breath and swallowed.

Keep it quiet, Phoenix. Keep your mouth shut and don’t do anything that’d make him uncomfortable. Amazing as he is, and as much as you wish you two could be something more, he’s untouchable. Totally out of your league.

There’s no way he’d ever feel the same about you.

Still breathing deep to calm his pounding heart, he tried to push down the ache in his stomach and trotted down the stairs.

He found Hershel in the kitchen, washing the last of their dishes from dinner, and for some reason still wearing his hat.

Hours since they’d come home and he still had it on? Talk about dedication to the image.

“I assume that once again,” he called over his shoulder, “that there were no problems whatsoever.”

He set the final plate down on the drying rack and looked up at Phoenix as he dried his hands.

“I’m her hero for keeping you and Mr Ascot from falling into the enclosure,” Phoenix proudly told him. “Apparently if it wasn’t for me, all three of you – meaning that kid as well – would’ve been torn to shreds by a crazy dinosaur bird.”

“And I’m very grateful for it,” Hershel told him, and Phoenix followed him through the house and into the lounge room. “You may have been focused on other matters, but I got a good look at that bird and I saw _murder_ in its eyes.”

Phoenix sniggered to himself.

“I guess that’s Australian wildlife for you,” he commented.

Hershel looked up at him, one hand on his hat’s brim.

“As a matter of fact,” he said, “as a show of my gratitude…” He adjusted the brim yet again. “…I did, in fact, make a purchase from the zoo’s gift shop.”

“You did?” Phoenix took a step back. “For _me?_ ”

The Professor gave him a small smile.

“What did you get?” Phoenix asked once he had found his tongue.

Hershel took off his hat.

There, balanced on his head, was one of the plushie fennec foxes that Phoenix had found himself so drawn to. He followed it with his gaze as Hershel reached up and took it off his head.

“I saw you eyeing this before we left,” he explained, “and I saw your dismay when you noticed the price tag. I hope you can forgive me for taking the matter into my own hands.”

Phoenix’s gaze shifted between his gentle smile and the toy.

His fingers trembled as he reached for its fluffy fur.

“Hershel, you…” He lifted it from Hershel’s hand. “This is adorable! What the heck?!”

“Please consider this my thanks for your help and consideration in rescuing that reckless teenager,” Hershel told him, holding his hat to his chest. “I’m afraid that wasn’t my first time struggling to save Randall from a deadly fall, and I’m very grateful that somebody could be by my side to help me.”

Phoenix ran his thumb over the toy’s velvety-soft ears. It was even more cuddly than he had imagined.

“I-it was nothing,” he stammered. “I… I just didn’t want anybody to get hurt.”

Hershel was still smiling at him.

“You’re a lot stronger and kinder than you may think,” he said.

The words hit Phoenix like a slap to the face.

That ache in his stomach had come back, even stronger than before, and it burned his insides like a pool of magma.

But it was useless. There wasn’t anything to read into by this gesture. Hershel was just a friend showing gratitude. He didn’t- he would _never_ feel the same way, and the knowledge of this fact weighed on Phoenix’s shoulders more powerfully than a ten-ton weight.

He looked down at the adorable toy again, and the ache moved to his throat, where it coiled into an agonising knot.

“Phoenix? Is something wrong?”

Oh god.

What kind of face had he been making?!

“I…” Phoenix tried to swallow the lump in his throat. “…um…”

“Come along, my friend,” said Hershel. “You should know by now that you can talk to me about anything.”

Phoenix felt like he had been punched in the stomach.

That was it. He couldn’t keep it in any longer. He _had_ to do something about it before this agony left him pathetic and bedridden.

“Well… it’s…” He tried to clear his throat. “I don’t really know if I should say this.”

“Whyever not?” asked Hershel.

“For all I know,” said Phoenix, “you could end up hating me. If I tell you what I’m thinking, there’s a damn good chance you might not want to be my friend anymore.”

Hershel’s face fell. He was staring up at Phoenix in shock.

A thrill of horror flooded down Phoenix’s spine.

Did he… did he already know? Had he caught on?!

“We won’t know until you say it,” he said. “Please, Phoenix. I want to know what’s bothering you.”

Phoenix bit back anything he might have been tempted to say.

What _could_ he say that wouldn’t make him look like an absolute idiot? Anything he tried to say right now would get him punched in the jaw and kicked out into the rain. He knew that. In his heart of hearts, he _knew_ that.

“Would you like a cup of tea?” Hershel asked him. “I tend to find it does wonders to calm the nerves.”

“Thanks, that would…” Phoenix took a deep breath. “That would be nice.”

Hershel nodded and walked back to the kitchen at alarming speed.

Phoenix, meanwhile, tried to make himself comfortable on the couch and hugged the fennec fox to his burning stomach. He had no idea what was going on or why Hershel had reacted like that, but his gut told him that this was _not_ going to end well.

The last time he had felt this way about someone, she’d turned out to be a serial killer, and she’d thrown him under the bus for her last crime before getting apprehended. He’d been strung along for a full _eight months_ by women who REFUSED to tell him the truth about anything they wanted from him and let him get caught up in their family drama. After trying to kill him too, no less. Nobody had told him _anything_ about why he’d been tormented like that until it had all come crashing down around their ears.

He wanted to believe that Hershel wouldn’t do that to him, but he’d been wrong before, and it was pain that he didn’t _ever_ want to experience again.

Sure, he was in the kitchen making him tea right now, but who was to say that he wasn’t brewing up a fresh cup of water hemlock?

But he couldn’t contain these thoughts about him anymore. He just _couldn’t._

If he spent the rest of their vacation dancing around it, it’d just make everything awkward for everybody, and no way could he do that to Hershel. No way could he do that to Trucy, for that matter. How confused would she be if her dad kept refusing to look at their host and subsequently refusing to say that it was because seeing Hershel smiling made him feel like he could have a coronary?

“Here.”

Hershel had come back. He set a tray laden with a teapot and cups on the coffee table, sat down on the couch and poured some out for each of them.

“Try not to let your hands tremble too much,” he said as he passed a cup to Phoenix. “I’ve found that tea stains are devilish to remove.”

Phoenix accepted the tea with a mumbled thanks and downed every last drop in a matter of seconds. It burned his mouth and throat on the way down, but he didn’t care one bit. That hadn’t been a lie at all; it really did make him feel better.

He lowered the cup and saw Hershel staring at him in alarm.

Considering that had been a cupful of fresh, _hot_ tea, that was hardly surprising. Hershel himself just took a small, thoughtful sip.

“Now please,” he said. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

Phoenix looked down into his empty cup as though hoping the leaves could direct him to the best possible future, even though he knew there were no such leaves to be found.

Nobody could help him with this.

Nobody could tell him what to do.

Nobody could help him.

Except himself.

He didn’t have any other options left.

He took a deep breath.

“I…” He couldn’t even bear to look him in the eye. “…I like you, Hershel.”

There. He’d said it.

And had been met with silence. Somehow he hadn’t expected anything else.

“…w-well, that’s rather a relief,” he heard Hershel say hesitantly. “I would have been quite saddened if you didn’t.”

“No, that’s not what I mean!” Phoenix snapped more aggressively than he’d wanted to.

Hershel was silent again.

“I…” He’d been left near speechless. “I’m sorry…?”

He hadn’t given Phoenix a black eye yet. That was a good sign, wasn’t it?

“I don’t just mean I like you, Hershel,” Phoenix went on. “I mean I _like_ you. More than friends are supposed to like each other, at least in my experience.”

He looked up at Hershel at last and saw him blinking at him in shock.

“See why I didn’t want to say it?” he asked.

Nothing he could do now but wait for a reply.

Hershel cleared his throat.

“Yes, I do,” he said. “Goodness, no wonder you were so hesitant.”

Dammit, this wasn’t working. If anything, Phoenix’s chest just hurt even more.

“And I…” He took a deep breath. “It’s almost annoying! Part of me _wants_ to like you in that way, because you’re one of the most amazing people I know and if anyone deserves it, it’s you, but part of me doesn’t want to because I don’t know how YOU feel about it and the fact that…”

He choked and struggled for what he could say.

“I-I didn’t ask for this!” he pointed out. “I didn’t say to myself ‘Hey, Nick! Now might be a great time for you to fall for your friend!’ and I didn’t want to-”

“Phoenix, it’s alright.”

He cut himself off when Hershel rested a hand on his arm.

“Please calm down,” he said, his tone far more relaxed than Phoenix would have preferred. “You don’t have anything to be upset about.”

The mere idea of that left Phoenix aghast.

“What?!” he spluttered. “Hershel, what’re you talking about? How can I NOT be upset about this? It’s humiliating! And it _hurts!_ ”

“I’m sure it does,” Hershel said before Phoenix could get another thought in, “but please listen to me.”

He set his tea down on the coffee table.

“I mean it,” he said. “You don’t have anything to be upset about.”

Phoenix’s heart all but stopped.

Surely this guy wasn’t about to say what he thought he was…

…but what other options could there be?!

“…so…” Phoenix choked again.

Hershel sighed and ran his hand through his hair.

“…gosh, this is going to be difficult…”

He cleared his throat and looked up at Phoenix, dark eyes stern and determined.

“I understand that we haven’t known each other for a great deal of time,” he said, “but if you wish me to be honest…”

He took a deep breath.

“I’ve found myself developing feelings for you, just as you say you have for me.”

The statement hit Phoenix harder than any punch.

Hershel felt the same.

He’d been _wrong?!_

“…what?!” he spat.

“And I know that this is hardly what I’d call a competition,” Hershel thankfully went on, “but I feel as though I may be even more hesitant about my own feelings than you are about yours.”

Phoenix suddenly felt like an absolute moron.

He’d spent so long fretting about his own previous romantic troubles that he’d completely forgotten those that _Hershel_ had been forced to go through.

“Claire, right?” he asked to make sure.

Hershel nodded.

“You don’t want to feel like you’re forgetting her.”

Slowly, clearly in unimaginable pain, Hershel nodded again.

“She still means a lot to you, huh?” Phoenix asked.

Hershel wiped an eye on the back of his wrist.

“She always will,” he replied.

Phoenix’s heart ached even more at that sight.

“I don’t know how much it would help,” he said, “but I have experience with that too.”

“Ah, yes,” Hershel said. “Your previous girlfriend attempted to murder you, is that right?”

“Yes.” Phoenix swallowed hard. “And it still stings to think about her.”

“Of course it does!” Hershel suddenly exclaimed. “A betrayal like that is indescribable!”

Phoenix had no idea what he was supposed to say anymore.

He’d spent days developing a crush on Hershel and had just learned that Hershel was suffering the same for _him._ He’d been so concerned about how his past experiences could affect him that he’d forgotten how Hershel had struggled through a similarly horrifying ordeal, and it seemed as though Hershel had only just remembered Phoenix’s experience too.

They were the _same._

They…

…they were exactly the same.

If it wasn’t so embarrassing, and if Hershel wasn’t so obviously upset by his painful memories, Phoenix would have burst out laughing.

“…well…”

Hershel’s voice was still slow and hesitant.

“I suppose…” he said. “…there isn’t anything wrong with loving more than one person, is there? If there was, then…”

Phoenix dug into his memories for something he could say to comfort this guy.

It’d be so much easier if his cheeks could stop burning.

“You’re probably going to hate me for this…” He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. “When I was a kid, my mom would let me stay up late and watch Star Trek with her. I couldn’t call myself a superfan or anything, but there was one line that always stuck with me.”

Hershel watched him, waiting in nervous silence.

“I can’t remember it exactly,” Phoenix went on, “but it was something like… you’ll never know a love like that again… because every time you love, it’ll be different. It’ll feel different with every person.”

God, why couldn’t this just _end?_

“The unspoken caveat,” he continued, “being that it’s okay and that it’s… it’s nothing to be afraid of or ashamed of…”

He silently prayed for the couch to open up and swallow him whole.

“That’s…” Hershel said quietly. “…really rather lovely.”

Phoenix could only nod in response.

None of this had gone anything like he had expected, not that he had expected much to begin with.

“You’ve been through rather a lot during your life, haven’t you?” asked Hershel.

Again, Phoenix wasn’t sure what to say.

“Not just on a physical front,” said the man he’d just poured his heart out to. “I can’t imagine how much suffering you’ve endured as a result of everything you were forced to soldier through.”

His ebony eyes were sparkling with tears.

“…from what I’ve heard,” Phoenix found the courage to say, “the same can be said about you.”

He couldn’t figure out what he was supposed to say next.

He wanted to dive forward and hug Hershel and promise to keep him safe and never let him get hurt again, but such a notion sounded embarrassing and downright selfish. He didn’t want to do anything Hershel wouldn’t want him to. He didn’t want to do anything that would make him uncomfortable and wind up driving him even further out of reach than he already was.

He could only sit there, stewing in silence, the atmosphere weighing down on him and crushing his chest and throat.

Part of him wanted to spring up from this couch and walk out into the rain so that a car could run him down, but he fought that part of his mind back with all guns blazing. No way was he doing that to Trucy and no way was he doing that to _Hershel_ , for that matter.

But then…

…what _could_ he do?

Other than sit here and beg for the end to come?

“Would you mind taking your hat off?”

Hershel’s soft voice cut into his thoughts and startled him.

“Uh…” Phoenix reached up all the same. “Okay.”

He pulled the blue beanie from his head and rested it in his lap.

Before he could ask what was going on, Hershel stood up.

“Now close your eyes.”

Still confused, Phoenix obediently closed his eyes.

Was this it? Was Hershel going to slap him and tell him to get real?

Before his subconscious could toss up any other nightmarish scenarios, he felt a hand gently brush his hair aside and another cradle his cheek.

Followed by the unmistakable sensation of a gentle kiss on his forehead.

“I promise that I will never, _ever_ try to hurt you,” he heard Hershel say. “If anything I do causes you pain, I want you to tell me and I will stop and apologise immediately. Do you understand?”

Phoenix opened his eyes.

Hershel was _smiling_ at him.

“…so…”

He almost couldn’t believe what he was seeing and hearing.

“…so this is happening?” he asked. “This is _real?_ ”

Hershel’s smile slipped away.

“Do you want it to be?” he asked.

“Y-yes!” Phoenix choked out. “Yes, of course I do!”

“But you’re nervous,” Hershel pointed out.

Phoenix fell silent again. Of _course_ he was nervous. With how fervently he’d believed that Hershel would turn him down, push him away and demand to never see him again, how was he supposed to _not_ be uncertain about the complete opposite turning out to be the truth?

He remained sitting on the couch and looked up at Hershel, hoping for help.

“It’s alright,” Hershel told him. “I am too. It’s been a long time since I shared such intimacy with another person.”

Phoenix almost laughed.

“Hey, same here,” he said, and managed a smile of his own. “So we’re… we’re okay?”

Hershel nodded.

“We’re okay.”

Every last ounce of the weight that had crushed Phoenix’s body flooded away in a heartbeat, and he sighed in relief that he never could have thought he’d be able to feel.

“Thank god,” he breathed, and he rested his fingers over the hand still on his cheek. “You’re amazing, you know that?”

“As are you, Phoenix.” Hershel brushed his hair again. “Thank you for your honesty. It can’t have been easy to say such a personal thing, but I’m grateful that you did.”

“I’m grateful I did too,” said Phoenix, and he took a deep breath for the question he wanted to ask next. “Can I hug you? I-is that okay?”

Hershel smiled at him again.

“Of course,” he said.

Phoenix couldn’t hold himself back for one more second. He threw his body up from the couch and swept Hershel up in his arms, clutching him to his chest – gently, with what had happened to him earlier that day – and revelling in the warmth of his body as Hershel hugged him back.

He almost wanted to cry from joy and exhaustion.

“I don’t really know if I’m in love with you yet,” he told Hershel, “but I seriously think I’m getting there.”

He felt Hershel laugh into his shoulder.

“I am too, Phoenix,” he replied. “I am too.”


	5. Chapter 5

When Trucy woke up, it was to a total absence of sunlight pouring into the bedroom like it had the past few days. The room was so dim that she could barely see the desk tucked into the corner, or the bolts of fabric laid over its chair and the dressmaking dummy standing beside it. Possessions of the girl she was borrowing this room from, Uncle Hershel had told her, and best left untouched until that girl returned home from school.

Trucy sniffed. She could smell something cooking.

It smelled like… _bacon._

Mmm.

Once she'd plucked up the courage, she climbed out of bed and swept Mr Hat’s cloak onto her shoulders to keep her warm, and wrapped it around herself as she walked out of the room. The delicious smell got stronger when she entered the upper floor’s hallway and she decided she had to find out what was cooking as soon as possible.

After she’d used the bathroom, of course.

When she’d done that, she’d only barely stepped out into the hallway again when Dad darted past her, blurting out a quick “good morning!” that she just about had time to return before he shut the door on her.

And as she walked down the stairs, the muffled sound of rushing water reached her ears.

Good. She hadn’t wanted to mention it, but he’d been starting to smell pretty bad.

But from somewhere else, even more muffled, she could hear a strange kind of rustling noise. A hiss almost like static from a TV tuned to a channel that had been knocked out by a lightning strike.

She wiped the dust out of her eyes as she plodded down to the bottom of the stairs and yawned as she approached the kitchen. She couldn’t just smell bacon now, but hear it too, sizzling in a frying pan and throwing her appetite through the roof.

She looked up at the person standing at the stove.

“Morning, Uncle Hershel,” she said sleepily.

Uncle Hershel looked around at her and smiled.

“Good morning, Trucy,” he replied. “I assume Phoenix is using the bathroom?”

“Mm-hm.” Trucy rubbed her eyes again as she passed the dining table. “He ran in pretty much the moment I came out. I think he’s showering.”

“You think?” asked Hershel.

Trucy picked up the kettle.

“One easy way to find out,” she pointed out, and flipped it open.

“No, don’t-”

Too late. Trucy held the kettle under the tap and turned it on.

From upstairs, there came a sharp cry of shock.

“He’s in the shower!” Trucy concluded, and she shut the tap off to stop her dad from getting boiled like a lobster.

She almost laughed at the sight of Uncle Hershel staring at her in horror.

“Children these days are a great deal crueller than I could ever have anticipated,” he commented weakly.

Trucy giggled and set the kettle back down on its stand.

“Don’t worry!” she told him as she headed for the table. “Daddy’s the toughest guy I know. There’s no way he’d let a bit of hot water get him down!”

It was hard not to stare at Uncle Hershel once she had made herself comfortable at the dining table. He looked so much shorter without his hat and so much less professional without his fancy black jacket and polo shirt. Standing at the stove with his fluffy brown hair exposed to the open air and dressed in a plain shirt and tartan-patterned pyjama pants…

He looked so _normal._

Less like an intellectual professor experienced in investigation and deduction and more like a dad cooking breakfast for his family.

She rested her cheek on her hand and smiled at him. It was like the difference between performing onstage and walking around after a performance and going totally unrecognised.

Man, what a magician he would have made…

With one hand still on the frying pan’s handle, he laid out slices of bread on the countertop, and Trucy noticed a brick of cheese and a pot of something orangey-red stood beside it, labelled with a picture of a tomato.

“I do hope you realise how likely I am to be blamed for that,” he remarked. “I’m the one who usually makes the tea, after all.”

Trucy just smiled at him.

“Then I’ll do Troupe Gramarye proud by taking responsibility!” she replied.

She watched Uncle Hershel pop the kettle open again and look inside.

“On that topic, would you like a cuppa?” He flipped the switch on the jug’s side.

“Yes please!” Trucy said happily.

The muffled hiss got louder, and Uncle Hershel looked through the window that lit up the kitchen with a pale grey glow. When Trucy followed his gaze, she saw fat droplets of water trickling down the glass, and her unasked question about what that hiss was had been answered in full.

Uncle Hershel, meanwhile, gave a disappointed sigh at the sight.

“I had hoped that perhaps we could pay a visit to the Tate Modern or the British Museum today,” he told Trucy, “but unfortunately…”

His explanation was rendered unnecessary by thunder rumbling through the clouds overhead.

Trucy frowned.

“But it’s winter,” she pointed out. “It’s so cold I almost didn’t want to get out of bed! Shouldn’t it be snowing?”

“Believe it or not,” said Uncle Hershel, and he stepped away from the stove to smear the bread with the tomato stuff, “if it gets cold enough, snow doesn’t form. I know that it’s strange, but the temperature needs to be above 0°C, or else precipitation will take the form of rain, hail or sleet.”

As if on cue, the hiss of rain became a loud, harsh rattle.

“Speaking of which…”

“Whoa, is that hail?!” Trucy stood on her chair to get a better look through the window.

Sure enough, she could see tiny pellets of white pouring from the sky outside, many of them hammering against the glass. The sound was piercing and made Trucy hug her cloak even tighter around her body.

“This weather,” said Uncle Hershel, picking up a knife to slice some cheese, “is what a gentleman would deem nothing short of miserable. I doubt we could even make it to the Laytonmobile before we were drenched to the bone.”

He glanced over his shoulder at Trucy.

“Would you care to brave the elements for your penultimate day in London?” he asked.

Trucy didn’t even need to give it one minute of thought.

“Mmm, no,” she said. “No thanks. No thank you. No. Nope.”

Uncle Hershel turned back around to cut off some generous slices of cheese from the massive brick.

“I do hope the hail doesn’t get worse,” he commented as he cut. “I dread to think what could happen to my car, should the stones get any larger. Please make yourself comfortable, my dear. Your breakfast shan’t be long.”

“Okay!” Trucy got down from the chair to sit again.

There was something about Uncle Hershel’s behaviour as he arranged the cheese on the tomato-smeared bread. He had a faint smile playing about his lips, one that seemed far too peaceful and content for something as basic as making breakfast sandwiches, his shoulders were slack and relaxed and his movements slow and gentle…

Come to think of it, hadn’t he already been dressed by now? Trucy was sure that on every other morning, he’d at least had his hat on by the time she’d come downstairs, and he didn’t seem like the type who’d refuse to put clothes on just because he wouldn’t be going out on that day.

Something had happened last night after she’d gone to bed.

Something that had left Uncle Hershel calmer and happier than she’d seen him in all the time that she’d known him, even if that time had only been a week and a half.

And something told her that it had involved her father, considering how he had specifically asked to spend the rest of their vacation with the Professor.

With how happy Dad had been ever since they’d arrived in London…

…standing close to Uncle Hershel while they were at the Globe, taking his cake recommendations, Uncle Hershel accepting Dad’s help while cooking dinner and leaning into him for comfort yesterday at the zoo…

_Oh_.

Oh, so _that_ was it.

Trucy smiled to herself.

“Hey, Uncle Hershel?”

“Yes?”

She rested her cheek on her hand again.

“I’ve told Dad before that I’d love to have a new mom someday,” she told him.

He briefly hesitated before turning back to the frying pan to jiggle its contents around.

“That’s awfully sweet of you,” he said. “Phoenix is lucky to have a daughter so eager to see him happy.”

“Well, I said I’d want a new mom,” said Trucy, “but if he wants something different, then I don’t mind having a second daddy instead.”

Uncle Hershel froze again.

She smiled even wider as he slowly turned to look at her.

“I…” His face was screwed up in confusion. “…beg your pardon?”

Before Trucy could continue teasing him, she heard a loud yawn from the doorway.

“Morning,” said the man responsible. “Something smells good.”

“Hi, Daddy!” Trucy grinned as he entered the room.

“Ah, Phoenix, there you are!” Uncle Hershel turned off the stove. “You’re right on time for breakfast.”

Trucy watched him pile a fried egg and a layer of bacon atop all three of the slices of bread already covered in cheese and tomato stuff.

“What say you to a toasted bacon and egg sandwich?” he asked. “With tomato relish and cheese, if it takes your fancy.”

A light on the oven flicked off while he closed the sandwiches.

“I say yes please, that sounds amazing,” said Dad.

Trucy watched Uncle Hershel give him a smile before flipping the sandwiches onto a prepared tray.

“Whoa, is that hail?!” Dad ran over to the window to stare outside.

“Yes, I’m afraid so,” said Uncle Hershel, and he nudged Dad aside so that he could put the tray in the oven. “I was just talking with Trucy about the plans I’ve been forced to cancel on account of this dreadful weather. It seems our luck from the past few days has finally run out.”

“Yikes, good call.” Dad ran a hand through his perpetually messy hair. “No offense, but I am _not_ going out in…”

He leaned close to the window to get a better look.

“Holy crud, look at that!” His eyes were wide in alarm.

“I know!” cried Trucy. “It’s already ankle deep out there!”

“Hmm, I wouldn’t say ‘ankle’ deep,” said Uncle Hershel, and he emptied the boiled kettle into his waiting teapot, “but step outside barefoot and I daresay your toes would be lost beneath the ice.”

He set a cosy over the teapot.

“Tell me, Phoenix,” he said. “Would you dare risk the dryness of your socks for the sake of a visit to the British Museum or Tate Modern?”

Dad looked out the window again, and he grimaced at the horrible weather.

“I want to say yes,” he responded, “but…”

Uncle Hershel sighed.

“It truly is a shame.” He leaned against the countertop with his arms folded. “I was looking forward to showing the two of you my contributions to the field of archaeology, prideful though it may have been.”

“Hey, that’s not prideful at all!” Dad told him. “I really want to see all the stuff you’ve found!”

“So do I!” Trucy spoke up. “Do you think we could find time for a visit before we catch the plane tomorrow?”

Dad rubbed a finger over his chin.

“Our flight’s at 5pm,” he said, “so maybe. Hershel, what do you think?”

Hershel hesitated again, midway through setting out teacups and saucers on a tray.

“I think that sounds like a wonderful idea,” he replied, smiling as he moved that tray to the dining table. “Here’s to hoping the weather brightens up a little by tomorrow.”

He slipped a pair of oven mitts over his hands.

“Phoenix,” he said, “would you care to pour the tea?”

“Sure thing,” Dad replied, and he set a teacup in front of Trucy.

“But what’re we going to do if we’re stuck inside all day?” Trucy asked.

Her dad finished pouring the tea while Uncle Hershel laid out plates for each of them.

“Not to worry, my dear,” he said, and he took the tray of sandwiches out of the oven and switched it off. “I’m positive we can sort out some means of worthwhile entertainment.”

“Really?” Dad sat down beside Trucy once he was finished pouring out tea. “Like what?”

Uncle Hershel set a plated sandwich down in front of him. The smell was _amazing._

“Well, trapped inside for an entire day with only each other…” He winked at Dad with a smile. “I’m sure I could think of something.”

Trucy clapped a hand to her mouth as Uncle Hershel turned away from her dad, whose face was glowing as brilliant as a lighthouse.

“Daddy, you’re bright red!” she laughed.

As if to distract from his obvious embarrassment, Dad snatched up his sandwich and took a big bite.

He froze, staring at its melty, cheesy contents, completely numb while Uncle Hershel presented Trucy with her own breakfast and sat down at the table.

“…oh damn.” Dad’s voice was muffled by his full mouth.

“Phoenix?” Uncle Hershel eyed him with concern, but he needn’t have worried. Dad’s blush faded as he chewed and swallowed his mouthful.

“Trucy,” he said, “as soon as we get home, we’re throwing our ketchup away. I don’t think I could stomach bacon and eggs if we don’t have tomato relish instead of sauce!”

Trucy picked up her own sandwich and bit into it.

He wasn’t kidding. The taste was _out of this world._

“You’re very welcome, my friend,” said Uncle Hershel. “I’m always delighted to introduce a culinary upgrade.”

The delicious flavour chased away every last drop of lingering cold in Trucy’s body, and she sighed in satisfaction once she had swallowed her mouthful.

Sure, they wouldn’t be able to go anywhere, but she had a feeling this was still going to be a great day.

* * *

Phoenix tossed Hershel the towel so that he could dry his hands too.

“I’ll be following your lead on this,” the shorter man stated. “I’ve cooked for myself and others countless times in the past, but I confess that I’ve never baked bread from scratch before.”

“Don’t worry,” said Phoenix, and he twirled a wooden spoon around in his fingers. “I’ve had plenty of practise. Right, Truce?”

“Daddy bakes all the time!” Trucy chirped from where she sat at the dining table. “And he’s great at it!”

Phoenix put the wooden spoon back when he remembered he wouldn’t be needing it.

“I’ve found it’s actually way cheaper to buy ingredients and make it myself,” he explained, “rather than heading to the store to buy a fresh loaf every time we run out of sandwich stuff. Where’s the yeast?”

“It is…” Hershel took a pot out of one of his cabinets. “Here. And the flour-”

“We don’t need flour yet,” Phoenix interjected, eyeing the pot. “That’s dried yeast, so we need, uh…”

He tapped his chin and looked around the kitchen.

“A jug would work best,” he decided. “A measuring jug. And sugar.”

“Understood,” said Hershel.

He produced a jug that surprised Phoenix with its size. He could see the measuring gauge on the side going all the way up to _two pints._ Dang. How many loaves of bread could they make with two pints of activated yeast?!

“What shall we be measuring?” Hershel asked, and he passed the jug to Phoenix.

“Warm water,” Phoenix replied. “Not hot, like straight from the kettle. Just warm.”

“And sugar?” Hershel picked up his sugar pot from where it had been positioned beside the mixing bowl. “What in the world do we need sugar for?”

Phoenix filled the jug at the tap, squatting to put the measuring gauge on eye level. Precision, that was key. Precision and patience and confidence.

“It’ll be easier to show you rather than tell you,” he explained.

Once he had the right quantity of water – thank goodness the Professor hadn’t seen it as an opportunity for a puzzle – he dipped in his finger for a test. Warm, but not hot. Perfect. He reached into the cutlery drawer for a teaspoon.

“Could you toss me the yeast?”

“I’ll _pass_ it to you, silly. This is a kitchen, not a fairground.”

Once he had the yeast, Phoenix opened the pot (wow, it had a metal seal on it like a can, they _really_ knew how to preserve things in this country) and carefully heaped a few spoonfuls of the powdery beige substance into the water.

“So we put some yeast in here…” he narrated to himself as he set the pot aside, “and then…”

He reached for the other pot.

“The sugar is for the yeast?” asked Hershel.

One big spoonful should be enough, Phoenix decided, and he gave the mixture a stir to make sure every last bit of fungus got a tasty meal.

“Something for it to snack on while it ferments,” he explained. “It needs to be alive and healthy before you can use it in baking. You’ve seen yeast getting all frothy and stuff before, haven’t you?”

“Yes, I believe I have,” Hershel replied, and he cupped his chin in thought as he watched the jug of water turn a muddy shade of brown. “Goodness, so that’s how the yeast becomes a bubbly froth? Truly I learn something new every day.”

He looked up at Phoenix with a satisfied smirk.

Phoenix wanted to punch something. God _damn_ was this man adorable. If he hadn’t figured out that he was bisexual back when he was in college, this guy would be giving him a panic attack!

He took a deep breath and tried to pull himself together. This was NOT the time to dissolve into what Maya would graciously dub a bi panic.

“ _Now_ we measure out the flour,” he said, hoping that his heart could stop pounding if they got back on track.

“Do you want me to turn the oven on for you?” Trucy hopped down from her chair.

Phoenix stepped back to think as Hershel poured flour into his scale pan.

“Hmm…” If he took into consideration the size of Hershel’s loaf tin, how large this loaf was going to be, the time it would take and the possibility of early browning… “…about 395° and-”

“Three hundred and ninety-five?” Hershel froze halfway through measuring the flour. “I’m afraid my oven’s temperature doesn’t go that high. The maximum is 260.”

Oh. Dammit, of _course._

“Crud,” Phoenix muttered. “You guys use Celsius, don’t you?”

“Yes, I’m afraid we do,” said Hershel. “In which case…”

He peered at his oven and stroked his chin again.

“I’d say around 200° would be more-or-less what we need,” he said. “That comes to around 397° Fahrenheit, but would you say that two degrees is an acceptable margin of error?”

Phoenix felt like he had just been slapped in the face.

“Dang!” he gasped. “You just worked that out in your head?!”

Hershel cast him a coy smile.

“You say that as if it was difficult,” he said.

“Maybe not for a genius like you, I guess,” Phoenix scoffed, and he looked down at his still-eager daughter. “Thanks, Trucy-Goosy, but we don’t need it quite yet.”

“Oh yeah!” Trucy’s eyes widened when she remembered. “’Coz it has to rise, right?”

“Yeah, and that can take a while,” Phoenix replied. “Don’t worry, we can put it on later.”

He squatted down and looked inside the oven. It was dark, but spacious, and he could just about see how perfectly clean Hershel kept it.

“Hey, Hershel,” he said, “how long does your oven take to heat up? It’s just one loaf, so I wouldn’t want it to take all dang day to cook.”

“Not to worry, Phoenix.” Hershel pointed to the temperature dial. “You see the light beside the knob? It turns off automatically once the inside is fully heated.”

Phoenix saw the light he’d been talking about. Quite a nifty gadget. He was almost angry that not all ovens came with such a feature.

“Huh,” he said. “Handy. With mine, I just kind of have to guess.”

“I do have an oven thermometer from the previous oven I had,” Hershel told him as he straightened up. “It had no built-in indicator, so I simply got my own. Would you like to take it off my hands?”

Phoenix wasn’t sure what to say.

Sure, it was hardly a massive offer, but with how much he had been cooking ever since Trucy came into his life, such an item could prove more valuable than his weight in gold.

“Uh, o-okay.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Guess I’ll just have to learn Celsius.”

“Oh, it reads in Fahrenheit too,” Hershel told him.

“Holy crud, I love you,” Phoenix said without thinking.

Hershel stepped back in shock, his face flushed brilliant red.

He ran a hand over his scruffy hair.

“…w-well…” he stammered.

It was only then that Phoenix realised what he’d said, and put it into context with what had happened last night.

“I-I mean-!”

He buried his face in his hands. Good god, he was a _moron._

He sighed into his palms.

“Let’s just…” He lowered his hands and saw the half-filled scale pan. “…measure out the rest of the flour…”

And then Trucy giggled, tuning the oven that his face had become to an even higher temperature, and he raised a hand to block them both from sight.

He’d thought last night’s events might go some way towards easing his anxiety with how he felt about Hershel – and how Hershel had claimed to feel about him – but with Trucy still in the room, he felt like a smitten idiot college student all over again.

And Hershel was looking at him. He could tell. It was barely even noon on a heavily rainy day and yet he felt like his face had been horribly sunburnt.

What he wouldn’t give for the ground to open up and swallow him whole…

“Uncle Hershel,” said Trucy, “is it okay if I go look at some of the stuff in your office? There are loads of things I didn’t get to see last time and you’ve got so many cool rocks and stuff!”

When Phoenix drummed up the courage to peek between his fingers, he saw Hershel smiling again.

“You’re very welcome,” he told Trucy, “so long as you don’t damage anything.”

“Thank you!” Trucy replied, bouncing happily on her toes.

She spun on the spot and hurried from the room, her cloak flowing out behind her as she ran.

With her finally gone, Phoenix found the guts to lower his hand at last.

“You’re okay with a chaotic force of nature like Trucy being alone in your office?” he asked.

Hershel laughed at his concern.

“You don’t have anything to worry about, darling,” he said. “It’s true that my home office is filled with trinkets, but a majority of my most valuable stones, artifacts and papers are kept in my workplace office. She’d have to scurry all the way to the university if she wanted to truly interfere with my work.”

Phoenix needed a moment to process what he’d just heard. Not about the office, but what had come right before it.

Darling.

He’d said ‘darling’.

Professor Hershel Layton had just called him _darling._

He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d felt so loved. If he didn’t say something soon, perhaps trying to steer his thoughts away from that particular point, he was going to melt on the spot.

“You…” He really _did_ feel like a dumbass 20-year-old again. “…you have a home office _and_ a work office? I had no idea you were such a dedicated workaholic!”

Hershel laughed again.

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” he said.

Phoenix finally found it in himself to smile, although if he wanted to be honest, it was hard not to when he was looking at such an incredible person’s happy face.

He could only hope that Trucy wouldn’t mind waiting a little longer in terms of possibly getting a new mother.

* * *

Hershel cradled his chin in thought.

“I’ll confess that I had my doubts over whether such a large jug was necessary,” he told Phoenix, “but I think it’s safe to say I understand the reasoning now.”

With how massively the container’s contents had puffed and frothed, he almost wanted to reach out and touch the pale brown bubbles, but he had a feeling he wouldn’t like the texture very much.

“Give it a sniff,” Phoenix said behind him.

A sniff?

It was safe to say _that_ hadn’t occurred to Hershel.

He leaned down and smelled the jug. The scent that reached his nostrils was… strange, but not unpleasant.

“What a curious odour,” he commented. “It’s like… would liquid bread be a good descriptor? Yet it simultaneously smells like bread in the process of baking.”

“Yeah, that sounds about right,” said Phoenix.

Hershel looked back at him and saw him poking a hole in the flour heaped in the mixing bowl.

“Okay,” he said, “the dry ingredients are properly combined, so now let’s introduce our frothed-up yeast. Hershel?”

Upon his prompting look, Hershel picked up the jug of muddy-looking water.

“Shall I just pour it in?” he asked as he approached.

“Yeah, go ahead,” said Phoenix.

Cradling its underside, Hershel poured the yeasted water into the flour, where it quickly took on a thickened, almost milky appearance.

“And now…”

Phoenix plunged his hand in and stirred the mixture.

“With your bare fingers?!” Hershel was taken aback.

“Yeah, trust me,” Phoenix said, still pushing the various components around with his hand. “It’s a good idea to be able to feel the texture for yourself. Also, feel my hands. Go on.”

He held up his free, clean hand, still blending the mixture together with the other, and Hershel held the bowl still for him while taking that hand with his own.

When he did, he almost forgot what he was doing.

“My word, your hand is warm,” he said softly.

“Exactly,” said Phoenix. “Yours too, wow.”

He nudged the bowl a little closer to Hershel, who saw that the flour and yeast-water had now been combined into a soft, sticky-looking dough.

“Here, you want to give it a try?” Phoenix asked.

“Shall I flour the countertop?”

“Good call.”

Hershel tugged the bag of flour over and sprinkled a fistful of it onto his kitchen worktop, doing his best to get an even coating, and dusting off his hands once he was done. He thanked himself for not putting his usual jacket on and leaving his hat upstairs; the last thing he wanted was for his most beloved items of clothing to get blanketed in sticky white powder.

“Okay,” said Phoenix, scraping damp dregs off his fingers, “I’ve worked it together.”

He tipped the bowl and pulled the dough out onto the counter, spraying up flour, and wiped the last of the remnants off his palms. In spite of his still-sticky hand, he reached into the flour bag and sprinkled a hefty pinch over the dough.

“Go for it,” he said, and stepped back for Hershel to take his place.

After rolling up his sleeves and giving his hands a thorough coating of flour, Hershel pressed his palms into the dough. Folded it and pressed again. Twisted and pressed. In spite of how pliable it had looked, the bread-to-be was surprisingly firm under his fingers, and he pressed down into it with all his might.

“…goodness…” he grunted. “…this is… a lot more difficult than I had expected…”

“Hang on,” said Phoenix. “Let me show you a thing.”

He nudged Hershel aside and picked up the dough, and before Hershel could stop him, he _slammed_ it down on the counter and kicked up flour everywhere. He folded it, pressed it together, then picked it up and _slammed_ it down again.

“Try doing it like that,” he said casually. “Turn it around each time and-”

“Are you sure?” Hershel almost felt frightened, and tried not to flinch with every loud _slam_. “That seems terribly violent!”

Phoenix laughed to himself as he stepped back.

“Trust me,” he said, and he started washing his hands. “You’ve got to be a bit rough. A lot of making bread is about confidence, okay? Show that dough who’s boss!”

Hershel swallowed.

He picked the dough up from the centre, just as Phoenix had told him, and swung it down _hard_ onto the counter before folding it, just how he’d been shown. He did it again, slamming and pressing with all his strength, and could swear he already felt the potential bread becoming softer and stretcher as he ‘kneaded’ it into submission.

“Yeah, that’s it!” said Phoenix as he dried his hands. “See, this is why I’ve got such great biceps.”

“I somewhat doubt-” _slam_ “-such defined musculature-” _slam_ “-is just from-” _slam_ “-kneading bread,” Hershel commented.

Phoenix frowned in thought as he rubbed cooking oil over the inside of the mixing bowl.

“Okay, yeah,” he said. “I was exaggerating a bit. It’s mostly from push-ups.”

“Push-ups?” Hershel glanced up from the dough he was pounding.

“Maya mentioned once that she’d heard exercise helps with anxiety,” Phoenix explained, and he set the bowl down beside the kneading station. “After I heard that, I just… started doing push-ups and never stopped.”

Hershel glanced up again.

At how tight Phoenix’s short sleeves were around his upper arms, his bulging shoulders so solid they could smash stone…

“That-” He kneaded even harder than before. “-explains a great deal-”

Phoenix’s face lit up with another smile.

“Are you okay?” he chuckled.

“I’m alright-” Hershel told him between _slams_ on the counter. “-I’m simply-” _slam_ “giving it my all-”

The impossibly handsome American failed to stifle his laughter.

“Well, I think that’s enough kneading,” he said. “We must’ve developed a good network of gluten by now-”

“Oh, thank goodness.” Hershel relaxed away from the counter.

“-so now,” Phoenix went on, working the dough into a ball, “it goes into the bowl to relax and rise.”

“I was beginning to get worn out!” Hershel told him. “I notice that you’ve greased the bowl?”

“Yeah,” said Phoenix, and he plopped the bread boule into the bowl. “We don’t want it to stick. Don’t worry, it won’t mess with the dough or anything.”

Hershel washed his hands at the sink and thought back to what he’d seen on the one… no, _two_ occasions he’d seen his mother attempting to bake bread from scratch.

“Should we cover it?” he asked, recalling how she’d used a tea towel.

“Plastic wrap will work,” Phoenix told him, cleaning his own hands once the sink was available, “but don’t pull it down too tight or else it could pop. Trust me, a lot of gas comes out while it’s rising. I’ve had that happen before and dough is a _pain_ to get off plastic wrap.”

Following the direction, Hershel pulled out the same cling film they’d used two nights prior and gently draped a sheet over the top of the mixing bowl.

“And now we leave it,” he remembered, “for…”

He looked up at Phoenix for an answer.

“About an hour,” was the reply, “maybe an hour and a half.”

“Goodness, that long?”

“Trust me on this. To be honest, I wish we could’ve put it in the fridge overnight, but it’ll be decent enough if we just let it sit for a while.”

“And if I recall correctly,” said Hershel, stroking his chin again, “the dough will significantly grow in size, correct?”

“If we’ve done it right,” Phoenix said, running his hand over his roughed-up hair, “it should pretty much double. The question now is what can we do to pass the time?”

Hershel looked up at him with a smile.

“I’m certain I could think of something,” he said.

Phoenix’s face blossomed into another adorable blush.

“M-maybe later,” he stammered.

It was difficult not to laugh. If Hershel wanted to be honest, part of him felt bad for this man. So easily embarrassed, yet when that happened, he looked so ridiculously adorable that it was almost unbearable.

“While we wait,” Hershel said to ease his heart, “I suggest we check that Trucy hasn’t made too much of a mess in my office. I’m a little concerned with how quiet she’s been.”

“Oh man,” said Phoenix, and he followed Hershel through the house. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned, nothing is more worrying to a parent than silence.”

Hershel smiled to himself. With all the time he’d spent accompanied by Luke, this was a lesson he too had no choice but to learn.

Anxiety balled in his chest as he reached his office. He dreaded to think what he could find when he opened this door. His mind filled with images of broken shelves, his artifacts and rock collection strewn all over the floor, Trucy unconscious after hitting her head on one of his pieces…

…so to say that his relief when he opened the door was immeasurable was an understatement.

“Oh my god,” Phoenix sighed, and Hershel heard the smile in his voice.

Trucy had laid herself down on the sofa, her face pressed into the seat cushions, and was sound asleep under the cloak draped over her body. That cloak’s cuff was cupped over her head, shielding her closed eyes from the weak daylight, and Hershel walked as quietly as he could as he and Phoenix entered the room.

“She’s been sleeping a great deal ever since we returned from Fatargan,” Hershel pointed out. “Could something be wrong?”

Phoenix gently sat down on the sofa and rested his daughter’s head on his lap.

“You can’t really blame her, can you?” he asked. “She’s just a kid, and by our usual standards, this vacation’s been pretty exhausting.”

“Oh dear.” Hershel carefully sat down beside him. “I’m very sorry, both of you. I never would have conceived so many outings if I’d known I was going to leave you so worn out.”

“Hey, don’t you dare apologise!” Phoenix hissed. “I had no idea what I was doing before we met up with you. We’ve done more fun things in the past few days than we did in the whole _week_ that went by before we found each other on that train!”

He brushed Trucy’s hair away from her sleeping face.

“Plus jet lag’s a factor,” he added. “Don’t forget about that.”

“I suppose,” Hershel muttered.

He looked down at Trucy, still peacefully snoozing on her dad’s leg.

“Not only that,” he said softly, “but as Luke said, Fatargan was _draining._ I can’t blame Trucy in the slightest for being so tired.”

She sighed and shuffled in place, nestling her head into her father’s lap.

Hershel looked up at her father, who remained gazing down at her in admiration. His smile was content, bleeding with love, but his eyes seemed shadowed and exhausted. He could have fallen asleep right there and then and Hershel wouldn’t have been surprised in the slightest.

“Are _you_ alright, Phoenix?” he asked.

Phoenix’s lovely smile slipped away.

He stroked his daughter’s hair again, and adjusted her cloak for better coverage.

“Hershel,” he said, “you’ve made this the best vacation I’ve ever had. I mean, I’m probably as tired as Truce is, but I’m tired because of something that isn’t my own head.”

He looked up at Hershel, his hair falling loose over his forehead.

“Does that make sense?”

His tired two-toned eyes were twinkling.

“It does,” Hershel sighed.

He could never overstate his relief at seeing the light of life in those eyes. It was a sight he considered that he could _never_ grow tired of.

“Although I’ve got to admit,” said Phoenix, “I do feel a bit bad for taking over your house and wasting so much of your time.”

“Phoenix, don’t you dare speak like that.” Hershel reached up and brushed that loose black hair away to get a better view of his eyes. “Any time I spend with you couldn’t possibly be considered wasted.”

The smile came back.

That beautiful, gentle, peaceful smile that warmed Hershel’s chest like no cup of tea ever could.

He could feel the warmth of Phoenix’s body against his fingertips, which he traced down the side of this incredible man’s face to the solid, chiselled cut of his jaw.

He couldn’t tear his eyes away. Didn’t want to break this gaze.

Well… there was one way he would be willing… and he couldn’t help sensing that perhaps their thoughts were on the same possibility.

“Do you want to kiss me?”

Phoenix blinked at him in surprise.

“…kind of…” he muttered.

His smile disappeared again.

Hmm, perhaps there had been an error in judgement.

“If you don’t feel comfortable,” Hershel said, “then…”

Phoenix snorted and lit up again.

“You’re definitely the most considerate person I’ve ever started falling for,” he remarked.

Hershel pulled back his hand, and only remembered he wasn’t wearing his hat when his fingers reached his head. He settled for running his fingers through his hair again, not caring one bit how idiotic his smile made him look.

“A gentleman always takes another’s feelings into consideration,” he told Phoenix.

“You sure it’s the whole gentleman thing?” Phoenix asked. “And not just that you’re a good person?”

A flush of heat spread across Hershel’s cheeks and he smiled even more.

“I try my hardest,” he replied.

He looked up at Phoenix and saw his smile vanish again, but before he had a chance to ask if something was wrong, the younger man buried his face in one hand.

“Oh my god,” he whispered, “you’re _adorable._ ”

“I-” Hershel’s face and chest grew even warmer. “Um, thank you.”

“What’s the matter?” Phoenix asked after lowering his hand. “Has it really been that long since someone told you how cute you are?”

Hershel’s heart skipped a beat.

“It’s…” It seemed his vocabulary had given up the ghost. “…I’ll confess, it’s been a while…”

He couldn’t do anything to prevent Phoenix from reaching up and rubbing his head, although he couldn’t complain about the sensation of his hair being ruffled.

“Well, that’s a crime, alright?” Phoenix said. “Because you’re goddamn precious, you hear me?”

He hesitated, his hand still on Hershel’s head.

“Holy crud, your hair is _so_ soft.”

Hershel pushed his hand away. Any more of this and he was going to dissolve into a blushing mess.

“I’m not a child, Phoenix,” he reminded this beautiful man. “I’m eleven years older than you!”

Phoenix sniggered again.

“You say that like it matters,” he said. “Would you rather I called you handsome? A babe? Drop dead gorgeous?”

“And _you_ say these things as though they couldn’t apply to you in equal measure!” Hershel pointed out.

He could have watched Phoenix’s laughing face for hours and not even come close to growing tired of it. Even just a small smile and he glowed like the midday sun.

Like the flames of his namesake, Hershel supposed.

He watched Phoenix sigh in contentment and hit him with another loving gaze.

“Man,” he said, “it’s such a relief to finally get to say these things to you.”

Hershel quirked an eyebrow at him.

“Have you really been sweet on me for that long?” he asked.

Phoenix rolled his eyes.

“I can’t say something as cheesy as ‘I’ve loved you since the moment I met you’,” he replied, “but it’s taken a while to figure out what these feelings actually are, you get me?”

Thinking back to last night, Hershel remembered his internal debate over whether or not his feelings towards Phoenix could be compared to those he’d felt towards Claire, and the amazing comfort that Phoenix had offered him as a result.

“I must confess to something similar,” he admitted. “I’m not sure if I’ve ever felt this way about a man before. About a woman, certainly, but this is…”

He cleared his throat.

“It’s new,” he said. “Odd. Perhaps a little frightening.”

He froze as Phoenix reached up to his face again.

“Don’t worry about it, okay?” He brushed Hershel’s hair away from his eyes. “I’m happy to help you figure things out if you need me to.”

His touch was so light, so gentle, and yet so warm, that Hershel had to fight back a lump hardening in his throat.

He pressed Phoenix’s hand to his cheek.

He couldn’t remember the last time a single person had made his heart pound so hard from just a simple touch.

This was excruciating. He couldn’t hold himself back anymore.

He leaned forward, still pressing the hand to his cheek, and his eyes fell closed as he kissed Phoenix Wright.

The gesture was returned.

So warm.

So _soft._

His heart hammered in his chest.

He didn’t ever want this moment to end. He could have wasted away the rest of eternity right here with Phoenix, holding his gentle hand, kissing his-

-hm?

Hershel broke them apart.

“What’s this?” He ran the tip of his thumb over Phoenix’s flushed lips.

“What’s what?” asked Phoenix, trying to look down at his hand.

“It feels as though…”

There was a strip of rigid skin cutting down over his mouth, invisible to the naked eye but obvious to the touch.

“Do you have a scar on your lips?” Hershel asked.

Phoenix’s face fell.

“Yeah, uh…” He wrapped his fingers around Hershel’s and pulled them away from his mouth. “Yes, I do. It’s a long story, and…” He squeezed Hershel’s hand. “…can’t say I’d be happy to tell it to someone who only agreed to be my boyfriend last night.”

Hershel gave him a squeeze in return.

“That’s alright,” he said. “You don’t ever have to feel obligated when you’re with me. Is that clear?”

Those multicolour eyes sparkled again as Phoenix’s smile came back.

“Thank you.”

The fact that such an incredible person could exist was perhaps the biggest puzzle Hershel had ever encountered, and he didn’t think he’d ever be able to solve it.

Not that he really wanted to, of course.

He leaned forward to kiss him again, and didn’t notice the small girl on Phoenix’s lap looking up at them with a mischievous little smirk.

* * *

“So how long should it take?” asked Hershel as he closed the oven.

Phoenix squatted down beside him and looked in at the trayful of dough.

“It varies from loaf to loaf, but…” He set his knee down so he wouldn’t fall over. “I’d say thirty minutes at this temperature, then we turn it up and blast it for another ten so we get some nice browning on the crust.”

Hershel chuckled as he straightened up.

“Listen to you,” he said. “Speaking like a true baker.”

Phoenix stood up as well.

“When it’s out of the oven, I recommend brushing it over with melted butter,” he said. “Gives it a bit more flavour and makes the crust good and shiny.”

“How in the world did you learn all of this?” Hershel asked, setting all of the dirty dishes in the sink. “I understand that you were a baker in Labyrinthia, but you couldn’t possibly have learned these things from an open-air kitchen with a woodfire oven.”

With tools hand carved by a whittler who lived up the street, Phoenix recalled, and a baking stone that probably hadn’t ever been washed in all the time it had existed, no trays to shape the loaves…

Man, OSHA would have a field day with that city. Good thing that Storyteller bastard had known to accept when the jig was up.

Phoenix swallowed.

“I got a library membership after I took Trucy in,” he explained. “Somewhere to keep warm if we ever got evicted during winter. Plenty of law books in there so I could research how to catch the bastard who set me up, but even I need a break from law every once in a while.”

He ran his fingers through his hair. It still felt strange to not have it spiked back behind his head.

“Plus I figured I should know some more recipes than instant ramen and PB&J if I’m going to raise a child, so…” He shrugged. “…every now and then, I check out a cookbook.”

Hershel looked up at him with another adorable smile as he turned on the tap.

“And you had thought yourself a bad person,” he commented.

“Hey, it isn’t easy!” Phoenix argued back. “Most of the library’s stock is all about healthy eating and salads and crap!”

He slapped a hand to his mouth. So caught up in his frustration that he’d forgotten to temper his profanity, and Hershel was giving him the annoyed look he deserved for it.

“Sorry,” he muttered, and he lowered his hand. “Imagine it’s you for a moment, will you? You have to choose between a box of frozen burgers that’ll keep for two months and costs like $4, and a bag of shredded lettuce that costs the same and is way healthier, but keeps for a week tops and will do nothing to fill your stomach! Which would _you_ go for?”

Hershel turned off his tap. The bowls and utensils they’d used were buried under steaming piles of fluffy white suds.

“I can’t call myself envious of your situation,” he said, “but I’m proud of you for thinking so logically about it. Whatever you may think of yourself, Phoenix, don’t ever let yourself believe that you aren’t intelligent.”

Phoenix found the courage to smile.

“Thank you,” he said bashfully.

Before he could say another word, the rattling from outside grew loud and intense, and Hershel pressed himself up on his toes to look through the window and see what was making all that noise.

“Goodness, it seems the weather has no interest in brightening up,” he remarked.

Phoenix followed his gaze and saw speckles of white hammering into the glass.

“Jeez, it’s hailing again?” he realised.

“I must admit I’m a little concerned,” said Hershel as he washed his sink’s contents. “I dread to think what we could do if we ended up flooded.”

“Oh god, you think that might happen?!” Phoenix spluttered more desperately than he’d intended.

Hershel looked out the window again. His face was calm and impassive.

“We should hopefully be a comfortable distance from the Thames,” he told Phoenix, “and the flood barrier can be raised if it becomes necessary, but I feel as though taping the windows would be sensible at a time like this.”

Phoenix frowned.

Surely he’d heard that wrong, hadn’t he?

“Taping…” It was hard not to stare. “…the windows?”

“Yes,” Hershel said calmly. “Putting tape on the glass so that if it fractures due to wind pressure…”

He trailed off and looked up at Phoenix.

“Ah, but you live in Los Angeles, do you not?” he asked. “I can’t imagine rain and hail are a terribly frequent occurrence.”

Phoenix leaned over Hershel’s countertop to look out the window. The ground outside was drenched in rainwater and a thick layer of hail that wasn’t even visible beyond around fifteen feet away, where it faded into mist.

“Rain? Not all that common,” he said. “Hail? This is literally the first time I’ve ever seen it in my life.”

He leaned back from the counter.

“Even when it snows,” he went on, “pretty much everybody agrees that it’s weird.”

“Do they now?”

Hershel set the rinsed bowl on his drying rack and hummed to himself.

“What’re you thinking?” Phoenix asked.

After fishing out the other bread-making utensils they’d used, Hershel rinsed them and set them beside the bowl before pulling the plug.

“During a round-the-world expedition some years ago,” he said, drying his hands on a tea towel, “I and a few colleagues stumbled upon a still-active holdover from an ancient civilisation that had the ability to affect the weather.”

He leaned against his sink and looked up at Phoenix.

“The valley it was situated in lived in a constant state of fear,” he explained, “as thanks to this bizarre device, they either had no wind at all or a horrifying gale powerful enough to tear a building apart in a matter of seconds.”

Phoenix’s jaw fell slack.

He couldn’t even picture something so horrific. What would have happened if someone had been in that building when it got ripped apart?!

“Wow, uh…” he said numbly. “You think there might be something like that in LA? Something causing snow?”

“I obviously couldn’t confirm from here,” said Hershel, “but it seems I now have a more than adequate excuse to travel to your neck of the woods at some point in the near future.”

Phoenix pouted dramatically.

“More adequate than me?” he whined.

Hershel chuckled at his little performance.

“I can’t very well tell Dean Delmona,” he said, “that I’d like to mount an expedition to the south-west of America purely for the sake of visiting my boyfriend. Fantastic though that may be, I simply wouldn’t secure the funding for it.”

Phoenix snorted in laughter.

“You mean you can’t get the university to pay you to come and see me?” he asked. “And you call yourself respected in your field!”

“My apologies,” Hershel laughed, “but I’m hardly the most manipulative man in the United Kingdom. Unlike some I would dare to name.”

Manipulative…

Before he could stop them, Phoenix’s thoughts wandered up north.

He had a feeling that no matter what he did, he would never be able to push last week’s events out of his mind. Certainly not out of his skin – he swore he could still feel the chill of freshly-fallen mountain snow – but his mind in particular kept wandering back. Back to that tiny village, nestled in the Cairngorms at the end of a single-lane road, where the people stared at him during the day and ghosts swarmed around him at night, the unearthly sounds of a violin whistling on the wind…

…and watching over it all, a woman as cold as the ice she carved, who would do anything to keep her daughter happy and their lives unchanged, even if it meant drenching her floors in her innocent citizen’s blood.

Horrible though it seemed, he couldn’t pity the death of a person like that.

Her daughter, on the other hand…

“I wonder how Michaela’s doing right now?” he wondered aloud.

He realised he’d spaced out, shook himself back into reality and looked down at Hershel, who was stroking his chin in thought again.

“I’m sure she’s alright,” he replied. “No doubt she’s quite relieved that she no longer has to worry about five outsiders making a mess of her village.”

Phoenix nodded.

“Is it weird that I feel sorry for her?” he asked. “I know she was complicit in some pretty horrible things, but it really seemed like she didn’t know what her mom was doing.”

He rubbed his face.

“I don’t even want to think about if…” Just thinking about that experience was exhausting. “…if Maya died and then I found out she was a murderer.”

Hershel frowned at the floor.

“I can safely state that it isn’t a pleasant feeling.”

Phoenix blinked at him in confusion.

“…you… um…” He had no idea whether he should broach that topic or leave it alone for Hershel’s sake.

He didn’t have a chance to make up his mind before Hershel reached into his shirt and pulled out that pendant he’d talked about a couple of nights ago.

“I mentioned the night before last that I have a brother, didn’t I?” he asked. “And that our relationship is, ah, strained. To say the least.”

Oh dear.

The story behind this was bound to be painful.

“Would you be okay telling me what he did?” asked Phoenix.

Hershel sighed, rubbing the pale crystal between his fingers.

“He terrorised my friends,” he said, “abducted many people including Luke’s mother and one of my teenhood friends, manipulated many others such as Randall and Luke and…”

He swallowed.

“…me…”

He closed his eyes and clenched his fist around the pendant.

“…caused thousands of pounds in property damage,” he said, “and so much more. All in the pursuit of vengeance.”

Phoenix felt dumbfounded.

Even with everything Hershel had told him about his prior experiences, not to mention the time they had shared in Labyrinthia and Fatargan, he hadn’t expected anything like _that._

“Dang,” he muttered. “What the heck kind of vengeance was worth _that_ much?”

Hershel’s hand opened on his pendant.

His eyes opened too, and he looked down at the floor again, his jaw set in a way that showed he was struggling to hold back tears and didn’t want to show it.

“There’s a good reason I’m so sympathetic towards Trucy’s situation with you,” he explained. “I myself was adopted as a child. Our parents had disappeared and my brother was far too young to take care of me. He…”

He took a deep breath.

“…he went so far as to give his name to me,” he said, “so that I would be adopted into the Layton family instead of him.”

“…holy crud…” Phoenix muttered.

“I was born Theodore Bronev,” Hershel told him. “My brother saw to it that I would be Hershel Layton, and as a result, that I would live a better life than he would have been able to provide, when it would have been all too easy to take that life for himself instead.”

It was difficult to know what to say, but Phoenix knew he had to speak. He had to make sure Hershel knew he was listening, and knew that he wasn’t alone.

“That’s…” Somehow words felt inadequate. “…incredible.”

Hershel’s fingers fidgeted on his pendant.

“But when I met him again only a few short years ago,” he went on, “when I remembered the truth of our bond, it was in the knowledge that he had done so many awful things… because of _me_ …”

“So you knew exactly how Michaela would’ve felt,” Phoenix realised. “Oh man, I’m so sorry, I-I had no-”

“You weren’t to know, Phoenix,” said Hershel. “Please don’t curse yourself for it.”

His voice was as calm and contemplative as ever, but it didn’t take a world-class detective to notice that look in his eyes. The way he stayed staring at the floor, fingers on that crystal, his mouth drawn and brows furrowed…

“Are you okay?” Phoenix asked.

Hershel wiped his eyes on the back of his sleeve.

“Someone doing terrible things for your sake,” he said numbly. “It’s a strange feeling, to say the least."

“That doesn’t answer my question, Hershel.”

Phoenix reached up and gently cradled his face, forcing him to look right into his eyes.

“Are. You. Okay?” he repeated.

Hershel blinked at him in surprise.

He kept fiddling with that pendant.

“In regards to my family?” He looked away from Phoenix’s face. “It’s… it’s complicated. I’m honestly not sure what I’m supposed to think, let alone say about him.”

That was enough.

Phoenix let go of his face, stepped forward and hugged him.

“There’s nothing wrong with that,” he said. “It takes guts to talk about this sort of thing. I should know.”

He stroked Hershel’s hair.

“You showed me that.”

It felt awful that this was the best he could do, and he could only pray that it would be any help at all.

Thankfully, after only a few moments, he felt Hershel hug him back.

Such a kind and gentle person did _not_ deserve such terrible things happening in his life. The fact that he’d been forced to experience so much horror was nothing short of a crime, for which Phoenix knew he’d never be able to catch the culprit.

So to make up for it, he held Hershel close, stroked his hair and rubbed his back and felt him breathe against his body.

It wasn’t much, but it was as much comfort as he could-

“Hi, Daddy!”

They broke apart with a cry of shock.

“Trucy!” Phoenix spat. “Wh-w-when did you-?!”

“Sorry!” Trucy giggled. “Was I interrupting something?”

“N-no, it was nothing,” Phoenix spluttered. “Nothing at all, we were just-”

“I was cold,” said Hershel, “a-and your father was just trying to warm me up-”

“-because the hail makes the whole house cold and-”

“-yes, the hail! It makes the entire house frightfully chilly!”

Hershel cleared his throat and tried (and failed) to smooth down his hair.

“Are you warm enough, Trucy?” he asked.

“I’m fine!” Trucy replied peppily as she trotted over to the oven. “Mr Hat’s cape is super cozy.”

Phoenix ruffled her hair the moment she was close enough.

“Yeah, it looked like a pretty nice blanket,” he said. “Did you have a nice nap?”

“I did,” Trucy replied, but then she started fiddling with her brooch. “Sorry I fell asleep in your office, Uncle Hershel.”

“It’s absolutely fine, my dear,” said Hershel. “The past few days must have left you awfully worn out.”

Trucy smiled in relief.

“Hey, Dad?” she said. “I had a dream about you.”

“You did, huh?” Phoenix crouched down to her eye level. “What did I do in that dream?”

She fiddled with her brooch again.

“I don’t really remember what you were doing,” she told him, “but I remember you were happy.”

Phoenix’s heart soared. It would be hard not to burst into tears again.

“Aw, sweetie.” He tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear.

Trucy ducked away from his arm and sniffed.

“It smells great!” she cried. “Are you just making one loaf of bread? Or are you doing more than one and they’re small?”

“Crud, I didn’t think of that!” Phoenix wanted to slap himself.

Hershel laughed again. It was a sound Phoenix was _never_ going to get tired of.

“Not to worry, you two,” he said. “A loaf of bread always provides more than you would expect. As a matter of fact, I already have something quite wonderful in mind that we could use it for in terms of our dinner tonight.”

Phoenix couldn’t help snorting again.

“Better than beef wellington?” he laughed.

Hershel looked down at him with a coy smile.

“I’ll leave that for you to decide.”

* * *

Nothing could have compared to Trucy’s disappointment when they took the freshly baked loaf out of the oven, perfectly browned and steaming, and she was told that she wouldn’t be allowed to cut into it until it had been totally cooled. Hershel explained the reason to her while Phoenix brushed it over with melted butter; to cut bread while it was still warm would ruin its texture. She’d have to be patient, he told her, and it was sure to taste far better if she was.

Although with how hard she was pouting, Phoenix almost wanted to feed the entire thing to her right there.

They enjoyed it with butter and jelly- no, _jam,_ Phoenix corrected himself. Just as he’d hoped, they’d done a fantastic job. This was a top-quality loaf of homemade bread. No matter what his demon brain might say about him, he still hadn’t lost his touch.

Too bad there was only one of him, and that Trucy was far too busy with her own pursuits to help him. If they could team up, he’d probably be able to tell his boss at the Borscht Bowl Club to _stick it_ and open up a bakery instead. Maybe they could even convince Maya and Pearl to come down and help, provided Pearl was assigned to cash register duty rather than cooking.

If only… it was a shame his paychecks were barely enough to pay his apartment’s rent and keep Trucy fed at the same time, let alone rent a store and all the equipment he’d need to set up a bakery.

Still, he rather liked baking for only one or two people at a time. It made it feel more personal. Like a secret he was only sharing with those he cared about the most. One that they got to enjoy until the rainy sky outside had darkened.

That was when Hershel got the onions out.

So many onions that Phoenix could only stare at them in amazement. They were for dinner, Hershel explained, and Phoenix remembered buying them at Tesco a couple of days ago, but it didn’t make sense that he’d cook nothing but just… _onions._

Phoenix had to help him out again, as they apparently needed to be thinly sliced and no way was Hershel going to be able to cut all of them up by himself. It became like a competition: which of them was going to be the first to experience their eyes watering to the point that they couldn’t see anymore?

To nobody’s surprise, it was Phoenix. He had to set the knife down and take a step back to wipe himself down because goddamn, even if he’d only made it through one of those stinging little bastards, his eyes _hurt._ Thankfully, he wasn’t alone for too long, as Hershel only made it half an onion further before he too needed to take a step back and wait for his eyes to stop watering.

Both of them, together in onion pain.

It would have felt poetic if Trucy wasn’t laughing at them.

Once they were all chopped, they went into a saucepan until they went soft and floppy and browned until they smelled incredible, whereupon Hershel added flour to thicken things up and a healthy helping of wine (non-alcoholic, he reassured Phoenix, since there was a child present). After that came an even more generous pour of beef stock, and while that was simmering, he cut three thick slices out of the bread they had baked and sprinkled them with herbs and olive oil before setting them in the oven to toast.

Then, once Phoenix had dished up the delicious-smelling onion concoction into three separate bowls – and had warned Trucy to shut her mouth before she drooled all over Uncle Hershel’s table – Hershel laid in a layer of grated cheese, followed by the toasted bread and even _more_ cheese.

And _then_ , for whatever reason, they went under the broiler (or “grill” as Hershel called it). This definitely wasn’t going to be a recipe Phoenix tried to recreate at home, considering how… involved it was, to say the least.

It all made sense once those bowls came out. The cheese had melted and was starting to brown on top and the smell… oh dear lord, the smell was _divine._ Phoenix had a feeling that if he didn’t get this stuff into his stomach as soon as possible, he was going to faint from longing.

To his relief, it tasted exactly as incredible as it smelled. If he hadn’t been in the presence of a gentleman, he would likely have picked up the bowl and swigged down its contents in a single gulp, letting the caramelised onion and rich beef flavours warm him to his core. Plus that toasty, melty, cheesy bread on top… this was easily one of the best meals he’d ever had.

Just a shame that it annihilated the roof of his mouth.

Trucy and Hershel didn’t seem to mind. Hershel sat with his legs crossed, demurely drinking down spoonfuls of his soup, occasionally passing Phoenix a satisfied smile that almost warmed his heart as much as this food. Trucy, on the other hand, practically inhaled the cheesy bread on top and plucked up the courage to drink her bowlful right from the rim, just like Phoenix had fought the urge to. No spoons necessary for _this_ little hellraiser.

They remained seated at the table and chatted once their bowls were empty, full and satisfied and growing sleepy from the warmth in their bellies, and the gentle hiss of rain from outside _finally_ began to die down.

It was kind of a shame they hadn’t been able to go out like Hershel had hoped.

The evening wore on, and before he knew it, Phoenix was tucking in his daughter again. His last time doing so on this side of the Atlantic.

Man, it felt strange for this vacation to be coming to an end already.

“I’m sorry about this, sweetie,” he told her. “I know you probably wanted our last night in England to be a lot more exciting than this.”

“Daddy, it’s okay!” Trucy replied. “It was nice just hanging around with you and Uncle Hershel. Plus both of you are really good at cooking!”

“Tell me about it.” Phoenix ran his hand through his hair. “I’m not the biggest onion fan, but that soup was incredible.”

“Hey, your bread was too!” Trucy thumped her fists on her quilt. “Part of the reason the soup was so great was because your _bread_ was great!”

Phoenix’s cheeks flushed in embarrassment.

“Well,” he said, “it’s hardly the worst I’ve ever made, but-”

“Dad, _stop,_ ” Trucy snapped. “Look at me.”

She grabbed his face and forced him to look at her, squishing his cheeks together while he stared at her in alarm.

“Can you please stop being so mean to yourself?” she said. “You wouldn’t say mean things all the time about Uncle Miles and Auntie Maya, would you? Or Luke? Uncle Hershel?”

Phoenix blinked in shock.

“Of course not!” His voice was muffled by her squeezing his face. “They’re amazing and they all deserve way better than that!”

“Then why do you think it’s okay to say that stuff about yourself?!” Trucy demanded. “You deserve better too!”

Phoenix couldn’t say a word.

What the heck _could_ he say?

There wasn’t any way he could disagree with her. She was _right._

He waited until she finally let go of his face.

“So stop being mean to yourself, okay?” she said. “I don’t like seeing my Dad get bullied!”

Phoenix massaged his cheeks until they stopped being sore.

What was he going to do with this kid?

“I’ll tell you one thing I definitely don’t deserve,” he said.

“What’s that?” asked Trucy.

He brushed her hair out of her eyes.

“You,” he said. “I don’t deserve you, Trucy-Goosy. Not a kid as great as you.”

“Oh, you hush, Daddy.” Trucy smiled bashfully. “Isn’t it obvious that I’m exactly what you needed in your life?”

Just looking at her cheeky smirk was enough to make all of Phoenix’s anxieties vanish, even if it was only for a moment.

“I don’t know when you got so smart,” he told her, “but…”

He stood up and leaned down to kiss her forehead.

“You rest that clever little mind of yours, okay?” He pulled her quilt up to her shoulder as she lay down on her bed. “We’ve got a big day tomorrow.”

“I love you too,” said Trucy. “Goodnight, Daddy.”

“Goodnight, honey. Sweet dreams.”

He turned away and left her alone to sleep, and once he had closed her bedroom door, he blew out a sigh of contentment.

That kid was easily the best thing that had ever happened to him.

He couldn’t have thought of anything better to have kept him afloat during this hell he had been living for nearly two full years.

If it wasn’t for her, then…

…then he never would have reunited with the person who was currently downstairs, and never would have realised how perfect he was.

What a stroke of luck, huh?

Well, a gentleman wouldn’t dare to keep another gentleman waiting.

Phoenix jogged down the stairs and found his way back to the kitchen.

When he got there, he saw Hershel closing one cupboard and opening another, then stepping back and cradling his chin in thought.

“Everything okay?” Phoenix asked.

“Yes, everything’s fine.” Hershel shut the other cupboard. “I was simply taking stock of my current grocery status. It’s difficult to feed three on the rations normally reserved for one.”

And Phoenix and Trucy had joyfully wolfed down everything he’d given them…

“…sorry,” Phoenix mumbled.

“Please don’t apologise, darling,” said Hershel. “I won’t have you thinking that you and your daughter have been anything other than a delight to spend time with.”

Another blush spread across Phoenix’s cheeks.

First calling him darling, then describing him as a delight. It seemed like the Professor wouldn’t be satisfied until Phoenix was reduced to a bashful blushing mess.

Quite frankly, he wouldn’t have it any other way.

“However,” Hershel went on, “it would seem that I’m running dangerously low on a necessity or two. Most vitally milk, but I used my last beef stock cube in tonight’s dinner and I prefer to have at least one box of those at hand. Not to mention onions, of course.”

But if they went to get groceries…

Phoenix jogged over to the window and tried to look outside. He couldn’t hear anything. Couldn’t see anything either. If it was raining out there, he couldn’t possibly tell.

“Do we risk it?” he asked.

Hershel stood on tiptoe to look out beside him, one hand still on his chin.

“Given how dreadful English winter weather can be,” he said, “I say we move as quickly as possible. I’ll take an umbrella with us just in case.”

“And if we _do_ get rained on?” Phoenix asked.

Hershel looked up at him with a smile.

“You’ve been in my room, haven’t you?” he pointed out. “Surely you noticed that my fireplace is well stocked.”

Phoenix tried to think back. He’d only been in Hershel’s room once and hadn’t noticed…

…a _fireplace?_

“I think I was more focused on you having a nightmare,” he replied. “You have a fireplace in your _bedroom?!_ ”

“Such things were commonplace when this neighbourhood was constructed,” Hershel explained. “Have no fear, Phoenix. It’s perfectly safe and quite wonderful on nights like this one.”

They looked out the window again. It was still too dark to see a thing, of course.

“And it’ll be even more wonderful if we get caught out in the rain,” Phoenix pointed out.

“Or worse,” said Hershel, “the hail.”

Phoenix swallowed.

“So we’d better hurry,” he said. “Are we taking the car?”

“Yes,” said Hershel. “Just to be on the safe side. Make sure you wrap up warm.”

“Yeah, I know,” said Phoenix. “I was in Fatargan too, after all.”

He rubbed his upper arms as Hershel led him to the front door, where their outer wear hung on conveniently located hooks. He slipped his jacket and gloves on and pulled his beanie onto his hat while Hershel donned his coat and hat.

Somehow it was only now that Phoenix noticed how dapper he looked. Smart was another way of putting it. Presentable, even. Less like he was just going to the shop for milk and more like he was going to a wedding or something.

A wedding…

No, that would be moving _far_ too fast. Phoenix wasn’t even sure if he was actually in love yet!

When they stepped outside, he quickly found that it had stopped raining after all. The ground was utterly drenched and shining in the streetlights, and Phoenix had to walk carefully to avoid slipping and falling.

Perhaps it would have been better if it had been snowing instead of raining. By the time morning came around, all these puddles and every bit of moisture on the ground would be frozen solid. The short path from Hershel’s front door to his car would become a death trap. As far as Phoenix could tell, the only upside was that a slippery surface would make their luggage easier to move.

It felt warmer in the car. Despite the model being old enough to not have a heating system, just being out of the open air was _so_ much more comfortable.

Then again, cheesy though it sounded, just being so close to Hershel was enough to make him feel warm.

Phoenix leaned against the window as they made the short drive from his house to the supermarket.

He could barely believe his vacation was nearly over.

Obviously they could keep in contact. Not only through writing letters, perhaps even emails if Hershel could learn how to use those sorts of systems, but social media was making extraordinary strides these days and they could both send and receive instant replies from opposite sides of the globe. Maybe they could even video chat. See each other’s faces while they talked. From what Maya had said, it was a lot cheaper than ordinary phone calls.

Yeah, it would be okay. It wasn’t like leaving England would mean never being able to see Hershel again. Not to mention the fact that Luke was in America too, and with him and Hershel coming as a matching pair, meeting him at some point in the future felt inevitable.

But still, it didn’t feel right that they’d just eat dinner, pick up some groceries and then go to bed. This was the last night they’d be able to spend together for who knows how long.

They had to do _something._

That thought lingered in Phoenix’s mind as they entered the store, which was almost totally barren of customers despite the hour not even being all that late. Hershel made a beeline for the milk, of course, and Phoenix fiddled with his own wallet that he’d kept tucked in his jacket pocket.

Would it be okay?

Would Hershel feel the same?

He almost slapped himself. What was he thinking? Hershel had made it perfectly clear in their conversation last night that he _did._ That he liked Phoenix just as much as Phoenix liked him.

And if that kiss in his office hadn’t been concrete, decisive evidence, he didn’t know what was.

He couldn’t help thinking that perhaps it could lead to more…

…and if it did, then…

Phoenix made an excuse and left Hershel to collect some onions, and found his way to the pharmaceutical aisle where he knew that what he needed would be located.

Hershel wasn’t the only one picking up ‘necessities’.

Thank goodness for self-service checkouts. Here was to hoping that Hershel didn’t notice this stuff sticking out of his pocket and ask some uncomfortable questions. He gave Phoenix an odd look upon joining him at the checkout, but to his infinite relief, that was as far as it went.

But then they reached the doors again.

And they saw that the rain had returned with reinforcements.

Hershel slipped his bag of groceries up his arm to the elbow and opened an umbrella, and Phoenix crouched down beside him to make sure he would be covered.

They stepped outside.

The cold slammed into Phoenix like a brick wall. The moment they walked through those automatic doors, a freezing wind hit him in the face and howled around their bodies. Hershel’s umbrella did nothing to protect their lower legs and it took mere moments for them both to be soaked to the knee. Every footstep made his sopping wet trousers legs slap against his legs, and he gritted his teeth in a futile attempt to resist that horrible sensation.

It wouldn’t take long to reach the car, he reassured himself. They could get inside and drive home and get warm-

“AH!”

An even stronger gust of wind blew the rain almost horizontal, meaning it hammered into both of them as Hershel’s umbrella whipped inside out and splintered into a mess of metal rods.

There was nothing for it. Phoenix grabbed Hershel’s arm and they ran to the car, the icy rain thrashing their bodies and drenching them to the core in a matter of seconds. Phoenix’s fur-trimmed hoodie didn’t do _anything_ to protect him. If anything, the fact that it was so thick and covered so much of his body was the worst possible thing. He was saturated all over and shivering and _cold-_

“Get in!”

It felt like an eternity before they were finally able to get into the car and shut out the rain, which splattered on the roof and windscreen in a deafening rattle.

“Ugh, so much for the umbrella!” Phoenix commented as he plugged in his seatbelt.

“I’m terribly sorry about that!” Hershel kicked up his windscreen wipers the moment the engine was running. “I had no idea my umbrella was so flimsy!”

“It’s okay, it’s okay!” Phoenix spluttered back. “We can use your fireplace like you said!”

Hershel swallowed hard as he pulled out onto the near-empty road.

“Yes,” he said numbly. “Yes, we’ll be alright. You aren’t too damp, are you?”

Phoenix struggled not to shiver.

“I’ve had worse,” he reminded Hershel, “but that was still pretty horrible!”

“Trust me, I understand,” said Hershel. “Were I not focused on the road, I would be shivering like mad.”

His boyfriend looked over at him. His jaw was set and knuckles were white on his steering wheel. In the light from the streetlamps, his coat and hat shimmered with moisture, and his face was speckled with droplets that obviously weren’t sweat. He stared dead ahead at the road, hunched down into his shoulders. It was a miracle he wasn’t shuddering in his seat.

Poor bastard.

Phoenix reached up and rubbed his arm from shoulder to elbow.

“Is this helping?” he asked. “Is the friction helping?”

“A little, but I’m trying to concentrate!”

“Sorry!”

He pressed his hands between his legs, trying his hardest to warm his fingers with his body heat, and forced himself not to shiver.

His clothes around his body were like a goddamn _fridge._

The drive was short, thank goodness, but it was still a frantic run through the rain to Hershel’s front door. And then, once they reached it after what felt like an eternity, Hershel fumbled and struggled to swap his car key for the front door key. His hands were likely cold to the point of numbness, but Phoenix still struggled not to shout in desperation to _get inside out of the rain-_

-and then the door was open, they dashed inside, and only once the door was closed were they finally able to catch their breath.

Phoenix clutched his upper arms and shivered.

“…well…” Hershel gasped, “…that could have gone better.”

“Let’s put that stuff away and g-get the heck upstairs!” Phoenix stammered.

“Try not to make so much noise! We mustn’t bother Trucy.”

“Okay, okay, let me help you.”

He took the bag from Hershel and they powerwalked to the kitchen, where Phoenix set the bottle of milk in the fridge while Hershel put the onions and stock cubes in their assigned cupboards.

And once that was done, they ran back to the hallway, up the stairs and into Hershel’s room.

Navigating by the streetlights, Hershel set his beloved hat on his nightstand and ran to his fireplace, which Phoenix could see not only did exist, but was already piled high with wood and tinder. Hershel struck a match and held it to a white block that immediately lit up – a firelighter, Phoenix realised – and pulled a grille across to bar off the flames.

“Oh man,” Phoenix sighed, and he held his hands out to the rapidly growing fire. “Ooh, that’s nice-”

“You’ll have to take your clothes off if you don’t want to catch a cold.” Hershel was already unbuttoning his coat.

“R-right,” Phoenix said nervously, and he unzipped his hoodie and made sure his purchases didn’t fall out of the pocket.

“I know it’s a little embarrassing,” Hershel told him, laying his coat on the floor before continuing his stripping, “but spending too much time in damp clothes will cause your core temperature to plummet, especially on a night as cold as this.”

He pulled his shirt off.

“It’ll do far worse than make you sneeze, believe me.”

Phoenix had been about to remove his own shirt when something caught his eye.

“…your back…” he said before he could stop himself.

Hershel looked back at him over his shoulder, and struggled to see the dark scratches that had been carved into his skin.

“Oh,” he said when he realised. “Of course. You, um…”

His tanned skin glowed in the firelight.

“Do you want to have a look?” he asked. “I should examine your wounds as well while we’re here.”

“Y-yeah,” Phoenix said.

Hershel sat on his knees, his back to Phoenix, who shuffled closer to get a better look. Dark scabs, no inflammation that he could see…

He ran his fingertips down the length of the cuts.

“I don’t see any obvious signs of infection,” he said softly. “They’re not inflamed or oozing or anything… looks like you’re healing pretty well…”

He couldn’t help noticing how warm Hershel’s skin was, soft and smooth to the touch, and he had yet to put up any resistance to Phoenix feeling his skin.

“That is a relief,” Hershel replied. “I’m sure you can imagine how painful they were to receive.”

Phoenix pressed his hand flat against Hershel’s back. The scratches were rough but thin against his palm.

All thought fled from his mind.

He leaned forward, balancing on his knees, and kissed the back of Hershel’s neck.

When he eased himself back, Hershel turned and stared at him.

Phoenix felt his face flush again.

“I-I’m sorry, I…” He cleared his throat. “I didn’t mean to… go out of bounds or…”

“Should I take a look at your wounds as well?”

Hershel shuffled around to face him.

It was impossible to avoid staring. This was a man who knew how to keep himself in shape. His chest and stomach looked soft, but his body was built solid. A thin layer of protective fat over years upon years of well-toned muscle, as his thick biceps and solid shoulders easily conveyed.

And that crystal pendant, hanging from a cord around his neck, casting a soft glow against his upper chest and drawing even stronger attention to his perfect body...

Phoenix swallowed. God _damn._

“If you want to, then…” He cleared his throat again and tried to ignore the sensation of blood rushing downwards. “I-I guess…”

He pulled his own shirt off, suddenly very aware how thin he was. He probably looked skeletal in comparison to Hershel, his skin far tighter around the muscles he struggled to maintain.

He raised his arm so that the scratches on his side were in full view.

He gulped again as Hershel leaned in close to him and ran a warm finger down the length of the wounds. If his heart pounded any harder, it was going to make his entire body shake.

“You’re healing well,” Hershel said softly. “Does it still hurt?”

“No,” Phoenix replied, wondering if his face was glowing as bright as the fire. “I-it’s fine, it-”

“Not even if I do this?”

Before he could put up any resistance, Hershel tickled his stomach.

“Hey!” Phoenix snorted in laughter and curled up to protect himself. “What the heck was that for?”

Hershel was laughing too. Man, he looked so _alive._

“I didn’t need to be as observant as Trucy to notice your discomfort,” he pointed out.

He cradled Phoenix’s face in his hands, and Phoenix found his breath coming smoother and easier than before.

“You don’t have anything to be frightened of,” said Hershel, a gentle smile tugging at his lips. “I’m not going to hurt you, and I trust you not to hurt me.”

Phoenix couldn’t remember the last time he’d wanted to hold someone so badly. Such soft hands, a gentle grip on his jaw, dark eyes glimmering like polished obsidian in the light of the fire…

“…Hershel…” he sighed in amazement.

“Even if you leave yourself defenceless.”

“H-hey!”

He recoiled as Hershel ticked him again. In trying to shy away, he toppled backwards and hit the floor and took Hershel down with him, but he was laughing too much to care if either of them were hurt.

Hershel’s laughter made his heart beat even harder.

He laid across Phoenix’s body, supporting himself on his chest, almost nose-to-nose with him. His face was alight with a stunning smile.

What a sight to behold.

“You’re amazing,” Phoenix sighed, not caring if he was grinning like an idiot. “You know that?”

Hershel reached down and traced his fingers over Phoenix’s forehead, brushing wayward hair aside and making his gorgeous smile all the easier to admire.

“I could say the same thing about you,” he said softly. “You’re full of surprises, Phoenix Wright.”

Phoenix reached up and rested his hand against Hershel’s warm, smooth cheek.

“And you’re adorable,” he replied. “Adorable and gorgeous and… oh man, where would I even start?”

He could barely even think anymore.

“And _you_ seem utterly unaware of how kind and handsome you are,” said Hershel. “Have you any idea how difficult it’s been? Spending time with a person like you and pretending you aren’t utterly sublime? When at any other moment…”

He stroked Phoenix’s head, running his fingers through that messy black hair.

“…I could have discovered that scar on your lips…” Hershel breathed. “…felt how warm your body is… these powerful hands of yours…”

He leaned in even closer. Their lips were almost touching.

Phoenix threw a quick glance sideways at the bed.

“You know,” he said, “you weren’t the only one who bought, uh, ‘necessities’ earlier.”

“I’d noticed,” said Hershel, smiling again. “You aren’t too talented at keeping secrets.”

Oh man, oh man, oh man…

Still cradling Hershel’s face, Phoenix traced his thumb over the beautiful gentleman’s lips, soft and smooth and oh so inviting.

“I’d say you have no idea how badly I’ve been wanting this,” he said, unable to raise his voice above a whisper, “but knowing you…”

Hershel blinked slowly.

“Do you want to kiss me?” he asked.

Phoenix didn’t bother replying.

He hooked his finger around the crystal pendant, pulled Hershel down and brought their faces together, kissing him harder than they had hours prior. He felt a tongue against his lips and allowed Hershel entry, rubbing down the length of his back with his other hand to press his body closer, and felt another hand caress his chest before moving up to grip his shoulder…

When they broke apart, the temperature in the room had skyrocketed, and both were left gasping for breath.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” Hershel sighed.

Phoenix pulled him into another searing kiss.

* * *

The fire had died down to glowing cherry-red embers.

Hershel sat in his bed, dressed in a fresh set of pyjamas, his legs covered by the clean quilt he’d brought out due to the previous one being dirtied. His hair was still a little damp from the shower, but it was nothing he couldn’t handle.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d spent so long acting without thinking, but he didn’t regret a single moment of it.

The memory of Phoenix’s touch still lingered on his skin. Soft fingers on his cheek, his shoulders, his stomach, his back and legs and hips...

But after tonight, would he ever experience that touch ever again?

He ran his hands up his arms. So gentle and considerate…

The door opening caught his attention. Phoenix walked in, dressed in his own sleepwear, and rubbing his head with a towel. He looked up at Hershel with an adorable frown of concern.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Hm?” Hershel needed a second to process that he’d been spoken to. “Yes, I’m perfectly alright.”

Phoenix rested the towel on the floor to dry beside their clothes.

“I know you said you’d never done it with a guy before,” he said as he approached the bed. “I’d hate to think I’d turned you off to the whole idea.”

“If it’s like that every time, then…” Hershel shuffled to one side to make room. “I can safely say I’m not turned off in the slightest.”

Phoenix sniggered as he wrapped his arms around Hershel, who leaned into his body.

“That’s a relief,” he said.

Hershel frowned.

“But still,” he said.

“What’s wrong?” Phoenix stroked his hair and cuddled him close.

Hershel took a deep breath.

“I do trust you, Phoenix,” he said. “I wouldn’t ever want you to think otherwise. Yet in spite of that, I can’t help but fear for you.”

“Fear for me?” He could tell Phoenix was frowning too. “What do you mean?”

Hershel found Phoenix’s hand and intertwined their fingers.

“I still remember everything you said to me that night in Fatargan,” he explained. “The night we found Mr Edgeworth on that mountain. I don’t believe I’ll ever be able to forget it as long as I live.”

He sighed.

“I don’t mean to decry your declaration to me on our train ride back to London,” he continued, “but I’ve already lost so many people whom I’ve loved with all my heart. I couldn’t bear to lose you too, even… no, _especially_ to yourself.”

Thank goodness he had enough composure remaining to keep himself from crying.

“And you’re worried that might happen after I go back home,” Phoenix stated.

Leaning against his chest, Hershel nodded.

“Hershel…” Phoenix kissed the top of his head. “You snapped me back to my senses, okay? I could never do that to Trucy. I could never do that to _you._ ”

Hershel looked up at him. His expression was deadly serious.

“You get it, don’t you?” Phoenix asked. “I don’t want anybody to go through the kind of pain I have. Especially not when you gave me hope again.”

“But we’ll be so far apart,” Hershel pointed out. “Once you’re gone, I can’t be sure if I’ll ever see you again, whether you’re alive or not. How can I be certain that you’ll be alright? How could I possibly know?”

He felt Phoenix playing with his hair, saw him studying his expression. He hoped it was clear how deadly serious he was too.

Phoenix managed a small smile.

“I’m not going to lie and say I’m totally okay,” he said, “but this trip’s helped me a lot, if only because I got to see you again. Like the hero you are, you’ve saved me.”

He took Hershel down with him as he leaned back to lie on the bed, and Hershel pulled the quilt up to cover them both.

“I’m going to find out who got me disbarred,” Phoenix went on. “I’m going to bring them to justice for ruining my life. I know that someday, all of this will be over and I’ll be okay, and when that day comes…”

He paused, eyes cast upwards in thought.

“I think I’ll bake a loaf of sourdough.”

Hershel leaned up on his elbows to get a better look at him.

“Sourdough?” He frowned at Phoenix. “A loaf of bread? Please don’t take this the wrong way, but as far as ambitions go, that seems oddly simple.”

Phoenix laughed quietly at him.

“You don’t know much about baking, huh?” he asked. “Sourdough’s one of the hardest things to get right. Any baker who can make a good loaf of homemade sourdough deserves a goddamn trophy for it.”

He brushed Hershel’s hair away from his face.

“Besides, you know me,” he said. “When you get to know me, I’m kind of a simple person.”

Hershel laughed too, and settled down against Phoenix’s chest with an arm rested over his body.

“Then I take back what I said,” he replied. “Any ambition is wonderful to have, and if it keeps you with us…”

He trailed off. That thought was too awful to finish.

He felt Phoenix kiss his head again.

“It’s okay,” he said softly. “I know I’m not quite there yet, but for now, I’m not going anywhere.”

Hershel hugged him. It was remarkable how warm and soft Phoenix’s chest was.

“When you bake your sourdough,” he said, “do be sure to send me a photograph. I’d love to know when you’re finally at the end of this arduous road you’ve found yourself in.”

He smiled into Phoenix’s chest at the feeling of his hair being stroked again.

“Don’t worry, okay?” Phoenix said, hugging him in return. “We _will_ see each other again. I promise.”

Hershel smiled, basking in his warmth, and closed his eyes against the soft red glow from the dying fire.


	6. Chapter 6

The next morning was quiet, the rain having died down during the night, and Phoenix was gently awoken by a cup of tea set down on the nightstand and a soft kiss on his forehead.

Hershel’s smile was the best thing he could possibly have woken up to.

He returned to his room and changed into a fresh set of daytime clothes, and packed everything else away into his suitcase. When he checked to make sure Trucy had woken up, he saw her sitting on her own bag, fully packed and smiling in satisfaction.

Breakfast that morning was scrambled eggs on toast, and compared to previous mornings, it was a relatively muted affair. Phoenix couldn’t blame either of those he shared it with; none of them wanted to face the fact that after today, they would be parted not only by an ocean, but a full continent as well.

But even so, Hershel squeezed his hand, and that alone was enough to lift Phoenix’s spirits.

Once they had eaten, Phoenix and Trucy’s luggage was loaded into the back of the Laytonmobile, expertly arranged by Professor Layton’s puzzle-oriented mind. It would be better to keep it all there, he explained, than to waste time leaving their things behind and coming back for them.

Flawlessly logical, Phoenix considered with a smile.

What a lawyer Hershel would have made…

He drove them to the British Museum, which they entered free of charge as friends of one of its most famous contributors. Trucy was entranced by the gigantic whale skeleton that greeted them upon entry, and Hershel suggested that they steer clear of the geology section, as he still had conflicted feelings towards it thanks to a visit with Luke where he’d tormented the boy with intolerable puns.

He happily showed them both display cases filled with artifacts that he’d uncovered as a result of his various expeditions, his eyes lit up like Phoenix had never seen before. Roman, Saxon, and Tudor coins, every detail on their surface polished free of dirt. A vast array of Celtic jewellery, woven from gold and silver, one of them a brooch in a knot design so intricate that Trucy almost started drooling at the sight of it, clutching her own green diamond in envy.

From there, Hershel led them to an exhibit of the ancient civilisation known as the Azran. Towering black rocks covered in glowing runes of bright cyan, a set of small blue egg-shaped stones beside a replica of a knife-like object that Hershel explained was a key, a matching pair of masks that supposedly combined into one and a robot bigger than Phoenix that looked like it was made of stone and had gun barrels for eyes…

…and photos of Azran sites from around the world. A gigantic dome of shining black, its interior blanketed in those same glowing blue runes, apparently the inside of a huge tower surrounded on all sides by a waterfall. A hall that looked like the interior of a castle, massive stone pillars supporting the roof, which Hershel explained was the Azran Sanctuary, the very centre of their civilisation. A vast subterranean cavern full of bright light and lush plant life, untouched by the modern world. A massive wall of solid blue ice, looking as cold as the air outside, and what looked like a human girl hovering in its centre, eyes closed as though she was sleeping.

Hershel told them, tears in his eyes, that he had met that girl. Her name was Aurora, he explained, and she’d been an artificial person constructed by the Azran to act as their emissary.

A lovely young lady who didn’t deserve the fate she’d received.

He didn’t explain what that fate was, but it was easy to tell it hadn’t been a happy ending.

Once they’d had their fill of the museum, Hershel took them to a café for lunch. Since it was their last chance, Phoenix took it as an opportunity to try some specialities that he wouldn’t be able to get his hands on when he’d returned home. A sausage roll, a slice of Victoria Sponge cake and a cup of Earl Grey tea, made all the more delicious by the company he shared it with. Trucy had a slice of meat pie so big that she didn’t have the stomach for dessert, while Hershel simply chose a grilled cheese and ham sandwich and stole some of Phoenix’s tea.

Hershel regaled them with stories as they ate. Stories of the artifacts and sites they had seen in the museum. The masks that had acted as the keys to unlocking the ancient city of Akbadain which currently sat under the city his friend Randall called home; a city which he himself had explored as a boy after being towed there by Randall, who had disappeared after an accident deep underground and was believed dead for eighteen years following that terrible event.

A squeeze on his hand from Phoenix was thankfully enough to help him feel better, although it did result in Trucy giving her dad a nudge on the arm and a shameless grin.

Phoenix didn’t care how embarrassing it looked.

So long as Hershel felt better, that was enough.

Before he knew it, they were headed for the airport, reaching the check-in with plenty of time to spare to get through customs.

But even if they had enough time…

“I don’t want to go!” cried Trucy. “It’s like I’m saying goodbye to my dad all over again!”

Hershel kneeled down in front of her and tucked her hair out of her face.

“Don’t think of this as ‘goodbye’, my dear,” he told her. “Do you honestly believe that we won’t ever see each other again?”

Trucy gasped and hiccupped and failed to keep her eyes dry.

“No,” she whined, “but Uncle Hershel, I’m going to miss you!”

She jumped forward and threw himself upon him in a hug that Hershel was quick to return, and it was with an aching heart that Phoenix fell to one knee to join in.

He held his daughter in one arm and Hershel in the other and clutched them both to his chest.

He didn’t want to let them go.

He didn’t want this final hug to come to an end.

“Write to me the moment you arrive,” Hershel told them. “I’ll be sure to reply with my email address. With the technological advances our university is experiencing, it’s about time I got used to that system.”

Phoenix squeezed him tighter.

“I will,” he replied. “I promise I’ll let you know the second we touch down! I’ll even include the tickets as irrefutable evidence!”

If this didn’t let up, he was going to start crying too.

Squatting here in the middle of the airport in a three way hug, they probably looked like a bunch of idiots, but Phoenix didn’t give a damn. Let the entire city stare in confusion for all he cared.

“I’ll come and visit,” he promised. “There’s a good chance I’ll have to come back to Europe for research, so I’ll come and visit!”

“And I’ll visit you too,” Hershel replied. “I’m positive I can find some reason to conduct an investigation in Japanifornia. This is _not_ just going to be one of those long-distance relationships that fades out over time. We _will_ see each other again. I swear it. On my honour as a gentleman, I swear it!”

“Don’t you start crying too, Uncle Hershel!” whined Trucy.

As much as he didn’t want this to end, Phoenix knew that if they didn’t let go now, they’d never be able to again.

He stood up, taking Hershel and Trucy with him, and they both leaned back out of his arms and gave him a chance to dry his eyes on his sleeve.

“If we must say goodbye,” he said, “then let us do so with a smile.”

He adjusted his hat by the brim.

“Is that what a gentleman does?” Phoenix asked with a quirked eyebrow.

“Not necessarily,” said Hershel, “but it’s better than parting with sadness, don’t you think?”

He gave Trucy one last gentle pat on the head.

“Farewell to you both,” he said, “and I wish you the best of luck.”

Phoenix took a deep breath and managed a smile of his own.

“We’ll see you later,” he replied. “Right, Truce?”

“Right!” Trucy said, grinning through her tears. “See you later, Uncle Hershel! We love you!”

Hershel gave them a tip of his hat.

“I love you too, my dear,” he said softly.

He stepped back, turned away, and it was with that sweet sorrow that Phoenix led his daughter in the direction of the departure lounge.

* * *

Hershel wiped his eyes one last time as he got into his car and set off with a smile.

No lies had been exchanged. He and Phoenix _would_ see each other again. In his heart of hearts, he knew this to be a fact. Perhaps he could see Trucy perform in a professional capacity, taking the world by storm with the miracles of Troupe Gramarye, or perhaps he could witness Phoenix’s courtroom comeback when he finally returned to revolutionise the legal world.

Until then, all he had to do was bide his time.

But even so, he couldn’t help but feel that his home was going to seem awfully empty now that they had left. It was true that he still had Flora (and would have to clear all signs of Trucy’s presence out of her room) but until the half-term holidays, she would be spending all of her time at school. And until her holidays were up, Rosa was going to be in Spain with her family.

Hershel took all of this into consideration as he parked his car outside his home, and went inside to pour himself a fresh cup of tea.

He would be fine.

He’d been alone before. Of course he was going to be able to do it again.

Even as the day turned into night, the clouds crawled back and rain began to pour, he knew that ultimately, he would be perfectly fine on his own.

He was Professor Layton, after all.

  
  
  
  
  


  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


Or at least, he would have thought that, up until the point that his doorbell rang.

When he answered the door, he was met by Luke.

Luke Triton, standing on his doorstep, bedraggled and exhausted and soaked to the bone.

Clutching a crying baby to his chest.


End file.
